Miss Marcie's Mischief (13 page)

"I am not 'your' anything," Marcie shot back. "Nor is Jack 'my' highwayman!"

"Then why the deuce do you continue fussing over his welfare?"

"Would you have preferred I left him to rot on the floorboards?"

Yes,
thought Cole. Anything would have been preferable to seeing his Mistress Mischief fawning over the shabby man.

"He is naught but a thief, and a sorry one at that," Cole said.

"And there you err," said Marcie. "He is my friend. He has not cast judgment on me merely because I've chosen to secret myself away from an odious boarding school. Indeed, Jack has been kind enough to assure me that he'll remain by my side until I make my way to Burford. He has promised to deliver me safely to my destination and has not once chastised me. Unlike you, Cole Coachman, Jack has proved to be nothing short of a gentleman!"

Cole scowled. "If that shifty man appears a gentleman in your eyes, then I cease to wonder why the mistress of your boarding school locked you in an attic. No doubt it was to save you from your own self!"

Those were the wrong words to say, obviously, for there came the sudden glint of wetness in Marcie's bewitching green eyes.

"Oh, bother—you are not going to cry, are you?" Cole demanded, trying to maintain control over his own roiling emotions. Why was it he kept saying and doing all the wrong things where Marcie was concerned?

She lifted her pretty chin, stalwart defiance chasing the sadness from her eyes. "Certainly not!" she said. "Tears are—are quite a useless reaction, I've learned." She mopped hastily at her damp eyes. "Do be assured I don't give a... a whit what conclusions you've arrived at concerning me, Cole Coachman! You should doubtless be relieved to know that I shall no longer have the chance to waylay your precious run. Now if you'll excuse me...."

She made a motion to turn away from him.

Something in Cole snapped. He reached for her hand. "Don't," he whispered. "Don't do this."

Perhaps Marcie's tears forced him to stay her. Perhaps it was his own cold heart thawing just a little at her tenderness that made him reach out to her. Whatever it was, Cole found himself taking her hand in his.

He cleared his suddenly tight throat. "I—I wish to be the one to see you safely to Burford," he blurted.

The wariness in her eyes proved pure torture.

"Why?" she whispered.

Why indeed?
thought Cole. But he knew why. It was because he couldn't tolerate saying farewell to her just now, because he couldn't fathom climbing back onto his cold bench, alone, and knowing he might never see her again.

Cole found he couldn't form the words that were in his heart. He couldn't blurt out that he'd actually come to care for her in some odd, too-forceful kind of way. No. He couldn't say those things. The Marquis of Sherringham wasn't known for wearing his heart on his sleeve. Just the opposite.

"Because I don't fancy standing idly by while you whistle your reputation down the wind," he said instead, a bit too brusquely for his own comfort. "No proper young lady would enlist the aid of a highwayman to see her safely to her destination. You must realize that a proper miss wouldn't set out on the open road with a highwayman!"

At that, the fight drained out of her. Her comely shoulders slumped. She pressed her eyes shut tight, bowed her head. "You are right," she whispered, the words almost inaudible.

Hesitantly, Cole asked, "So you'll allow me to take you to Burford?" A moment of silence slid past, time enough for Cole to wonder if he'd been too harsh.

"Yes," she finally whispered. "I shall travel with you."

Cole released a long-held breath of air he wasn't aware he'd been holding.

"But," said Marcie, lifting her head, and her mood suddenly turning light, "only if Jack can join us."

"Oh for the love of—fine, fine," he muttered, not at all happy, but realizing Miss Marcie wouldn't budge an inch if he denied her request. "Jack may come along. But if he makes any move to rob us blind, I'll see him strung up by his toes!"

Miss Marcie smiled. "He'll not be strung up anywhere lest I be strung up beside him."

"You are that fond of the man?" Cole asked, dismayed.

Marcie flashed him a winning smile. "Until I met Jack," she said honestly, "no one ever thought to teach me how to dance." With that, she moved away from him, heading for her highwayman and stable friends.

Cole watched her go, and for the merest moment allowed himself to imagine himself and Marcie in the grand ballroom of Sherringham House. Oh, but he'd love to teach her to dance...

Chapter 9

True to Cole Coachman's words, they left the inn within the quarter hour, but Marcie did not warm the bench beside him—Miss Deirdre did. And rather prettily, too, Marcie conceded upon leaving the stable and spying the worldly woman perched provocatively upon the hard wood. Snuggled in several layers of fur rugs, her golden hair hidden beneath a warm and stylish bonnet, and her long, slender fingers gloved in the finest kid skin, she looked like a queen—a decidedly sultry one, but a queen nonetheless.

She waved a cheery good morning to Marcie, calling out that she wished to give her a rest from the biting chill and so had abandoned her seat inside the coach.

"No need to thank me, sweet child," she said as Marcie stared up at her. "You must have been frozen stiff riding atop this horrid bench all through the night. Never fear. You may take my seat inside. I shall keep our fine coachman company. Indeed, I am often up with the sun—shocking though that habit may be—and do admit to enjoying the brisk morning air."

Marcie sincerely doubted such a thing, but she wasn't about to call more attention to herself by arguing with the woman. What did she care if the lady wished to freeze her toes and her nose alongside the grumpy Cole Coachman?

Marcie wished Miss Deirdre a comfortable ride, knowing by experience the lady would be most uncomfortable, and headed for the carriage door, Prinny atop her right shoulder.

Jack scurried to help her inside. "Here, mistress. Allow me."

Nan was already well established within the coach.

"Thank you, Jack, but truly you needn't fuss over me. I am just glad you agreed to join me on my way to Burford."

Jack nodded even as he craned his neck to get a better view of Miss Deirdre, who'd taken to stretching like a sleepy kitten. "Oh my," he whispered, awestruck. "I'll be..."

"You'll be what?" Marcie asked testily, knowing very well where his gaze and thoughts had wandered. She tugged hard at his sleeve.

Jack absently let down the steps, which crashed down on Marcie's booted toes.

"Jack!" cried Marcie.

"Eh? Oh, sorry," he muttered. He shook himself to attention, realigned the steps, then made a grand show of helping Marcie into the carriage. "I be daydreaming," he said guiltily.

"I gathered as much. Doubtless your daydreams are filled with visions of Miss Deirdre."

"Ah, she is a beautiful angel, that's for sure."

Gracious,
thought Marcie,
but must every male trip over his tongue at the mere sight of the wily Miss Deirdre?

"She is but a woman, Jack," Marcie reminded the man. "No angel. Not by far, I suspect."

"Close enough," Jack said. Clearly smitten, he straightened to his not-so-threatening height, whipped off his filthy hat, and dragged his fingers through his unkempt hair. "She is travelling with us to Burford?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Marcie.
Unfortunately,
she thought.

Jack beamed, preening like a peacock. "Will wonders never cease? Not only have I found me a true friend in you, but along comes the bright beauty of my dreams. I be doubly blessed this fine morning."

"Jack, surely you cannot believe yourself in love with that... that creature."

"I can, and I am."

"But you've not even met her!"

"Love works in a queer fashion, to be sure, mistress. I don't need to meet her, just see her. She be the woman for Jack, make no mistake about it. After all," he added, winking, "it is Saint Valentine's Day, y'know. A day for love... and for lovers."

Marcie didn't need to be reminded of the date. She'd not forgotten about the holiday, about sweet Valentines and precious verses she'd not be receiving. Nor did she bother to inform the highwayman that Miss Deirdre would as like as not turn her prettily shaped nose up at him. The woman clearly was one accustomed to the finer things in life. Too, it was obvious her taste in men leaned toward those who could afford to keep her in grand style... and perhaps toward such rugged, moody types as Cole Coachman.

This last thought did not sit well with Marcie. She didn't like being forced to take a seat inside the coach when only hours before she'd been just as forced to join Cole on his bench. But climb inside she did.

Jack poked his head inside the carriage long enough to see that Marcie had ample space to recline. He gave her a wink, promising he would keep a sharp eye on any fellow thieves haunting the roads.

Marcie thanked him, breathing a sigh of relief when he finally shut the door. She leaned back against the squabs, blowing out another breath of air.

Nan, with bandboxes and presents again piled on either side of her, cooed in delight. "Marcie, I do think you've quite captured the man's interest. How dashing! Imagine, dancing with a
highwayman,"
she said with delicious glee. "Cole told us all about your highwayman. Said you'd become oddly fond of the scoundrel."

Marcie frowned. "Jack isn't a scoundrel, Nan. He was just down on his luck. As it happens, ours was the first coach he ever attempted to rob."

"Still," said Nan, excited, "he is a highwayman. And you did defend him. That's what Cole says, anyway. He warned me and Miss Deirdre away from the man. Said we'd be getting in over our pretty heads if we allowed the man to try and sway us with his forked tongue."

"Fustian," said Marcie. "Pure and utter fustian."

"So you
are
enamored of the highwayman. No wonder Cole has become a perfect crosspatch. He's quite put out that you've taken a fancy to Jack. No doubt he is just eaten with jealousy. He was shooting fire from his nostrils when he came to collect us from the parlour. Mumbled some such thing about you rolling ivories with a band of miscreants. How delicious! And to think you'd only intended to flee from Mistress Cheltenham's stuffy school. Oh, Marcie, but you seem to be enjoying the lark of your life! Is this not grand fun, this ride?"

Marcie frowned. "This is not 'the lark of my life,' Nan. Hardly that. It has been a perfectly horrible time and—" Marcie stopped short. "What did you just say? About Cole Coachman, that is."

"I said he was spitting fire when—"

"Not
that,"
said Marcie impatiently. Cole was forever spitting fire when it came to her. She knew that much. "You said something about... about jealousy," she said, her heart seemingly fearing to beat until she'd heard the words again.

"Oh, he's as jealous as jealous can be, make no mistake about that," replied Nan. "Why, I do believe, he is a bit smitten with you, Marcie. I declare Cole has never been preoccupied with a female as he has been this past hour with you."

Marcie's heart gave a wild kick. She studiously tried to control its odd flutter, but to no avail. Cole Coachman smitten with her? Preposterous! He was vexed with her, nothing more.

And yet, the mere possibility of the handsome coachman harboring warm thoughts about her made Marcie's heart soar into her throat. He was, after all, the first man she had spied on Saint Valentine's Day. Could that mean he would also be her groom before a year had passed?

"Marcie?" said Nan, eyeing her friend. "Whatever is the matter? You are blushing furiously.
Oh!
Do not say that you have taken a fancy to Cole!"

"Certainly not," Marcie said. "And I am
not
blushing. I—I am just overheated."

"In this frigid air? Go on with you. You rather like the idea of Cole's being jealous of you and your highwayman. Tell me true now. You like it, you do!"

"Nan! Enough of this talk. I—I am not about to lose my heart."

"And why ever not?" asked Nan. "'Tis the perfect season for losing one's heart. How romantic to fall in love on the morn of Saint Valentine's Day! And Cole Coachman is such a fine catch, Marcie, to be sure."