The Vengeful Bridegroom (9 page)

She watched him walk to the door, his robe securely tied, his back to her. Ready to walk out and forget what had just passed between them? She gulped with unshed tears because she knew she had hurt him, something she suddenly discovered that was the very last act she wanted to commit. But it was too late.

Closing her eyes, she heard the door open.

“I almost wish I could say yes, but I would be lying to both of us,” he told her enigmatically, then closed the door softly.

Madelene continued lying in the same place for a long while. He was unlike any man she had ever met. While her mind might have retained her righteousness, her heart hurt for what he had left behind. She knew what she must do. She had to leave.

Restless, unable to sleep, Madelene decided to depart the house and her husband at the earliest opportunity, which appeared to be this moment. She could not dally any longer, uncertain of what lay ahead if she remained. There was no time to worry what her husband would think when he found her absent in the morning and whether he would follow her, as he had promised.

She hurriedly dressed in her traveling clothes, resolved to leave most of her belongings behind. Perhaps she could pay one of the groomsmen to take her to Ludlow, assuming the servants had not earned Mr. Westcott’s allegiance in one day. It would make for the quickest departure so she could leave this unfathomable man behind who wanted everything from her, but could give nothing in return. Madelene had to keep the candle of her anger burning, for it would be the only way she could save herself.

Ready to do all that mattered to escape, she clutched her reticule while listening at the door. What to do about Alec? Her only solution appeared to be knocking him out temporarily. Her recently acquired bed warmer would suit her purpose, as before, but she might need to hit him slightly harder. It might make him think twice about guarding anyone in the future.

She cracked the door open to discern if Alec sat in his usual spot. Strange, the young man was missing. Perhaps he had to look after the little dog. Not daring to waste any time relishing her good fortune for a clear path to her impetuous escape, Madelene slipped out the door and headed down the back stairs to the servants’ hall she had discovered earlier that day.

Soon enough, she left the servants’ entrance and made her way over the graveled walkway in the direction of the stables she had noted when they arrived yesterday. With only her memory to guide her, for the darkness blanketed her sight, she was barely able to register her own hand in front of her.

Any moment she expected to be stopped, and she had no clear reason why she’d be dressed in traveling clothes other than flight. Her heart pounded in her throat when every click, every crunch, every jingle could mean she had been discovered.

On her short trek from the house to the stables, she reflected upon her fortune of finding a groomsman who would take her to the village, but dismissed the idea out of hand. Too many questions. Her only solution, if successful and undetected, was to either saddle a horse or hitch a gig. She preferred neither, but desperation allowed few options.

While in the country for brief visits to cousins, she had ridden a horse a few times but never actually saddled one, and by no means could she claim any talent as a horsewoman, her only skill being never having fallen off a horse.

Definitely safer with a gig, assuming Mr. Westcott kept that kind of transport. Then perhaps if she could make it to the village, someone could help her obtain passage on the next coach to Town.

Gathering her courage close like her black cloak, she appreciated the night that kept her identity a secret. As she rounded the square building, hugging the shadows, she stopped abruptly when she heard a voice.

“Cappie, I’m going up the house for dinner. Fanny was to keep something warm for me. Can you unhitch Silver? Stuffy Windthorp’s just back from the village,” a deep voice called. The groomsman with the baritone voice didn’t appear interested in hearing a reply since his steps continued onward, growing more and more distant the closer he walked to the house and away from the stables.

Madelene hid in the shade of the stalls, waiting to see if the fellow called “Cappie” made an appearance. All remained still.

She rounded the side of the stables and saw a small gray horse hooked to a gig. The gray looked over at her, neighed softly, and swished her tail.

Could she dare? Any minute she expected the groomsman Cappie to find her near the carriage. With no time to lose, she dared to pull Silver by the bridle out into the courtyard. The wooden wheels clacked on the cobblestones, but she continued tugging the horse and carriage step by step, farther down the lane, until she felt safe to climb up into the gig. Her heart in her ears, she heard no outraged cries or thundering steps running to catch up with her.

A few minutes more. A few more minutes and she’d be free. While her burden began to lift from her shoulders, she refused to consider the bruises beginning to show on her heart.

Afraid to even breathe, lest she alert anyone nearby, Madelene finally nudged the gray into a trot when she determined herself to be far enough from the stables. She was concerned for the little mare, who had only just returned from the village and had more work to do this night, but she couldn’t turn back now.

Mrs. Lavishtock watched from the housekeeper’s window and shook her head.
Not now, girlie, not now. This doesn’t feel right.
She had to do something.

Barely able to discern the outline of the lane, Madelene could only hope Silver knew the way better than she could guide her. Once through the stoned archway onto the road to Ludlow, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She had done it! She was on her way home. As the little gig continued down the road and farther away from Westcott Close, she wondered what Matthew would say when he arrived home. Would he be angry or extremely relieved she had returned unharmed from her little misadventure called marriage?

Yes, her marriage. Her husband. Without a doubt, Matthew would understand her need to be home, but she could never discuss her husband’s breathless kisses and his heated touch. And the pull she felt even now.

Madelene knew she couldn’t go back. She might have hoped her anger would trigger a great deal of hatred toward her husband, but her enmity appeared in short supply. He had made her want him, and this would never do.

She had every intention of getting an annulment.

If only her husband had stayed away from her. Perhaps they could have been friends and enjoyed each other’s company until the time came when she would have to leave. They could have parted on convivial terms.

Madelene closed her eyes. She couldn’t fool herself. She and Mr. Westcott could never live under the same roof and remain only friends. He had taught her that lesson with one passionate soul-locking kiss. She found herself wishing he would not be angry with her after learning she had escaped. But she would never know.

Silver trotted down the road, the night warm and silent, only her thoughts or regrets to accompany her on the journey.

Except a mile from Westcott Close, the carriage jerked and bumped as if it hit something. The gig suddenly pitched to the right. Madelene dropped the reins to hold on to the sides of the carriage to prevent falling out. But the next jerk of the carriage pitched her into the side, where she hit her head on the frame. The little gray must have felt something amiss, because she stopped and started to back up, then halted.

Leaning heavily toward the right and holding fast to the side of the carriage, Madelene looked down to discover the reason for her misfortune.

A wheel had fallen off.
Oh, the devil’s foot!

What to do?
Maybe she could hook the wheel back on the carriage? Better to investigate what could be done first.

After untangling her skirt and cloak, she crawled out of the gig and fell onto the nearby embankment. Sitting on the small hill, she tried to catch her breath by breathing in the sweet grass. More than a little frightened, she rubbed her head where she had bumped it. Thankfully, the bump was her only injury, when it could have been much worse. But it still pained her.

She sat on the green-grassed rise next to the road to debate her next move. Of all the addle-pated ideas, when she could have been safely sleeping. If only the gig hadn’t lost its wheel, but then at the present, she had no use for castigations. She sighed.

Past midnight, the only people out this late would be either highwaymen or neighbors heading home from a dance. She hoped to meet one of the latter and certainly not one of the former. Madelene couldn’t stop shuddering, although the night remained seasonably warm. When she looked down the dirt road, first to the right, then to the left, the road remained empty but for a few oaks lining each side.

How quickly her night had gone from excitement to disappointment. No help for it, she would simply have to turn back. Obviously, she hadn’t planned for any contingencies, consumed by her urgent flight.

Lost in thought, Madelene finally noticed Silver walking back and forth, trying to break free from the gig. Concerned the little gray might hurt herself, she knew she should probably unhitch the carriage. Once off the rise, she walked over to Silver to try and calm her. Grabbing the bridle, she stroked the horse’s neck. “Good girl, good girl,” she whispered.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Madelene recognized the voice immediately and stilled her hand and her heart. Surprised, she couldn’t move.

Her husband. How had he found her? And so soon? Perhaps there was still time for a highwayman to happen along. She thought she’d rather face that fear than the wrath her husband had surely planned to rain on her head.

Still holding onto the horse’s bridle, she walked to the other side of Silver to find Mr. Westcott on a big black horse, staring down at her. The man and horse blended into the darkness, adding to his mysterious appearance. As if a dark wish had been made by someone who was not her guardian angel. She could only surmise her husband must be completely vexed with her.

Her courage in tatters around her, she replied, “Not at the present time. We have appeared to have lost a carriage wheel,” she told him, feeling slightly nauseous while waiting for his anger to show itself, and watched in alarm as he dismounted and walked over to her. His eyes remained steady on hers the closer he came.

“Are you hurt?” His voice sounded more troubled than irate.

His rough voice confused her.
Why did he ask as if he cared about the answer?

Madelene rubbed the bump on her head. “I bumped my head, but—”

He reached over and brought her hand down before removing his glove and examining her head for himself. His nearness was quite unnerving. Standing breaths away, he gently touched the general area. “Yes, I do feel something there. You will probably feel the results of your expedition in the morning, nothing more.” He left her side to walk back to inspect the gig and the wheel lying on its side.

Shaking his head, he returned to unhook Silver from the dead weight of the gig, as Madelene continued to hold the horse’s bridle and coo to Silver. She watched as her husband returned to his saddle to retrieve a rope, then walked back to tie it to Silver’s lead.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Mrs. Westcott, you can either ride or you can walk, but I can assure you, riding will be much faster and certainly easier on your feet. I’ll send Cappie back in the morning to retrieve the carriage and the wheel.”

Madelene had watched the scene unfold with her heart in her hands waiting for his anger to boil over and burn her. Perhaps he had something else in mind? Like more of his kisses? Surely he wouldn’t consider that punishment; at least
he
couldn’t be sure
she
didn’t have those thoughts.

Mr. Westcott threw himself on the back of his black steed and looked down at her with raised eyebrows, waiting expectantly for her decision. He would give nothing away by his demeanor.

She knew she had little choice in the matter. Pride would make her walk, but fatigue proved her downfall. When she finally found her voice, she replied, “Mr. Westcott, I, I would prefer riding back to the house.” With great trepidation, she drew closer to his restless horse and spoke louder, looking up to her husband with what she hoped would be a sincere apology written on her expression.

No sooner had the words left her than Mr. Westcott leaned down with one arm and swept her onto the horse, settling her between the pommel and his own very warm, hard body.

Since she had intended to sit behind him, she struggled before he whispered in her ear, “Surely you can endure being this close to me for the short duration it will take to return home. I promise not to take advantage of your nearness.” The last words almost had a smile in them.

She looked up at him, trying to read his thoughts, as Mr. Westcott heighed his steed. With Silver meekly following behind, they started toward home.

Mr. Westcott looked down at her upturned face and told her gruffly, “Madelene, do not look at me in that manner or you will receive what you told me earlier was only a substitute for, what did you call it, revenge?”

Swallowing hard, she looked out into the night. It was an uncomfortable seat until he lifted her onto his thighs, which made the ride somewhat smoother. And brought her ever so close to him and every hard unrelenting part of him. He might not want to take advantage of her presence, but since he enveloped her in his heat, with his arms around her, she felt drawn to him. Wanted to feel his lips again, one last time.

She whispered to him as he leaned toward her. “I am greatly relieved you found me. I—”

“We’ll talk no more about it. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.” They continued their brief journey home in silence while Madelene wondered how her husband had known where to find her. Had Alec seen her?

“Mr. Westcott, please don’t punish Alec. I imagine he told you how to find me.”

He didn’t answer, as if considering her plea. “I’ll take care of Alec. No need to worry punishment awaits him. I don’t think either of us expected such a clever girl, or that you would want to depart my company so soon.”

Did he refer to her in such admiring terms? This night was most definitely not ending the way she had imagined.

No further words were spoken until they returned to the stables. A groomsman, who must have heard the horses’ hooves on the lane, appeared to handle the horses.

As they walked toward the main house, Mr. Westcott inquired, “How is your head? Is there anything I might offer for it?” Appearing most solicitous, he held her arm, sensing her unsteadiness on her feet and probably because he was more familiar with the path.