My God, she was beautiful!
He wanted to pull her into his arms to kiss her, but she was not the sort of woman you could do that tonot suddenly and for no reason. What in heavens name was she doing here, wandering among the buttercups and daisies, miles from home? Who was she?
He felt it too, this strange alchemy, and he supposed it had been there from the start of this strange journey. It was why he was determined to escort her, even when she made it plain she did not want an escort. It wasnt only the mystery surrounding herperhaps there was no mystery and she was exactly what she said she wasit was something about the girl herself. Her beauty, her courage and independence, all the attributes he had said would make her unfit to be a ladys companion, were the very things which drew him to her.
Runaway Miss
Harlequin®Historical
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MARY NICHOLS
Born in Singapore, Mary Nichols came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children, and four grandchildren.
Runaway Miss
MARY NICHOLS
TORONTO NEW YORK LONDON
AMSTERDAM PARIS SYDNEY HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM ATHENS TOKYO MILAN MADRID
PRAGUE WARSAW BUDAPEST AUCKLAND
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Prologue
1816
It was almost dawn, the eastern sky over the chimney pots of St Jamess bore a distinct pink tinge, and soon the suns rays would penetrate to the level of the street and the creatures of the night, human and animal, would disappear and those of the day make an appearance. But the gentlemen sitting at the card table in the gaming room of Brookss club were unaware of the time. The heavy curtains in the room were drawn against the windows and the only light was from the lamps that had been burning all night, so that now the room was stuffy and malodorous.
The previous evening it had been crowded, all the tables filled, but as midnight approached the first players began to leave, followed by others until, by three in the morning, only one foursome remained intent on their game. Hovering over them, wishing he could go home to his bed, was a liveried, bewigged footman whose task it was to make sure their glasses remained full. Except what was necessary to further the game, no one had spoken for hours.
The four menLord Cecil Bentwater, Sir George Tasker, Mr Jeremy Maddox and Viscount Alexander Malverswere so absorbed that the time of day, even the day of the week, hunger or families and servants patiently waiting for them to come home meant nothing at all. Lord Bentwater, who had the largest pile of coins and vowels beside his elbow, was in his middle to late fifties, dressed entirely in black, unrelieved except for a white neckcloth in which reposed a glittering diamond pin. He had a pasty complexion and dark glittering eyes.
Sir George Tasker was a year or two younger, dressed in a single-breasted green coat, a waistcoat of cream satin embroidered with silver thread and a fine lawn shirt with lace flounces protruding from the sleeves. He wore several rings, a crumpled neckcloth and a quizzing glass dangling from his thick neck. A film of perspiration caked his face. His dark eyes were wary and a twitch in his jaw told of a man reaching the end of his tether.
Mr Jeremy Maddox was just twenty-one, a tulip of the first order. His shirt-collar points stood up against his cheeks and his cravat was tied in a flamboyant bow, the ends of which cascaded over his sky blue waistcoat. Undoubtedly his doting mama would have been horrified if she could see the company he was keeping.
The fourth man at the table, Viscount Alexander Malvers, was very different, both in appearance and demeanour. He eschewed the fanciful garb of the pink of the ton, for a well-cut cloth coat of forest green, a white waistcoat and a sensibly tied cravat. At thirty years old, he had come back from service in the Peninsula and Waterloo in one piece and was thankful for it. He was not a habitual gambler, certainly not for higher stakes than he could afford, and had only consented to make up the four when Count Vallon dropped out.
He had been watching them for some time before that and had come to the conclusion that Lord Bentwater was far too clever for Sir Georgethe latter, if he had had any sense, should have paid up and left long ago. Alex had joined them out of curiosity to see how far Sir George was prepared to go before throwing in the towel. Years in the army when boredom was, more often than not, the order of the day had taught Alex to be a skilled card player and he was prudent in the way he played so that he was a little on the plus side, but not by much. Now he, like the waiter, wished only for his bed.
Well, George? Bentwater broke the silence. Do you go on?
Youll take my voucher?
Ive a drawer full of your vouchers at home, George. Aint it time you began honouring them?
Drawer full? Sir George looked decidedly worried. I never gave you above three that I can remember.
I bought the rest.
Sir George was startled. Why?
An investment, my friend. Got them for half their face value, some of the older ones even less than that, since their holders had given up hope of being paid.
In that case you dont expect me to honour them for the full amount, do you?
Oh, dear me, yes. Plus interest, of course.
I cant, you know I cant.
Why not? I thought when you married the widow, you were made for life.
So did I, George said despondently. I was gulled.
You mean she had no money? Bentwater roared with laughter, though it was not a happy sound. Oh, thats a great jest.
There was money there, all right, but she didnt have the spending of it. Her baboon of a husband left her a small annuity and tied all the rest up for the daughter.
Then you should have married the daughter, George. How old is she?
Twenty now, eighteen when I married her mother.
Old enough to be married, Bentwater said, thoughtfully tapping his wine glass against his rotting teeth.
I didnt know she was the heiress at the time or I might have done. Now itll all go to whatever cock-brained cabbage marries her.
Then, George, you had better make sure she marries where it will do you most good, Bentwater advised. You need her dibs to pay off your debts.
Then you had best tell me how that is to be done, Cecil, since the solution eludes me.
Is she comely?
She is. Fair face. Good teeth. Fine figure. Tall
How tall?
Oh, I dont know. I am an inch short of six feet and overtop her by two or three inches or thereabouts. What do you want to know that for?
It aint right for a wife to be taller than her husband.
True.
And she has a fortune, you say?
Will have. Until she marries it is administered by trustees. Thirty thousand a year at least. And I cant lay my hands on any of it. It was said bitterly.
Then you have your answer, my friend. Ill take her off your hands for the return of your vouchers
What?
You heard me.
How many have you got?
A drawer full, I told you. Twenty thousand pounds worth. And theres that diamond pin you gave me which turned out to be paste. He paused so that the others could digest this news and make what they would of it. Have you had all your jewels copied, George? he added pleasantly, though everyone at the table was aware of the undercurrents of malice. That wouldnt sit well with your creditors if they knew of it.
Sir George gulped, while Jeremy laughed a little crazily and Alex, who had heard some bizarre wagers in his time, was beginning to wish he had never joined in the game and helped to bring about Sir Georges humiliation. The whole affair could cut up nasty.
You want me to give you my stepdaughter?
Why not? I need a wife. The others I had were useless, never gave me an heir and a man needs an heir, so the younger and stronger the better. And if she comes from a good family with a generous dowry, that is all to the good
I say, gentlemen, Alex put in mildly. Dont you think thats coming it too brown?
None of your business, Bentwater snapped. Unless you fancy buying Sir Georges vouchers and taking the chit off his hands yourself.
No, I do not. I would never stoop to buying myself a wife. No need to. He saw the older mans eyes darken with anger, but could not resist adding, Supposing she wont have you?
In my book daughters do as theyre bid. He turned back to Sir George. Ill be fair. Your vouchers and five thousand in cash. With a little luck you could make that grow
Sir Georges expression betrayed his wildly erratic thinking. His despair was suddenly replaced by hope, as if someone had thrown him a lifeline. He could survive. With five thousand he could make another fortune. All he needed was for the cards to fall right.
Mind you, Bentwater went on, you dont get the money until after the wedding ceremony.
Her mother would never agree
Wives, like daughters, should do as they are told.
You drive a hard bargain, my lord.
So, it is a bargain, then?
Reluctantly Sir George offered his hand. Its a bargain.
Lord Bentwater shook the hand, gathered up his winnings and rose from the table. Gentlemen, I suggest we adjourn. Sir George has some persuading to do. Then, to George, I shall expect to be presented to the lady and her mama at the first available opportunity. Shall we say Almacks on Wednesday?
But thats only two days away.
One, considering it is now Tuesday. And the sooner the better, dont you think? The interest is accruing every day you delay.
And with that, he disappeared, leaving Sir George so bemused he didnt seem to know what to do, and Jeremy Maddox laughing fit to burst out of his tight pantaloons. Alex, picking up his winnings from the table, frowned at him. Come, Maddox, lets go and find some fresh air. There is a bad smell in here.
Out in the street it was fully daylight, but blustery. There had been rain overnight and the streets were full of muddy puddles. Alex smiled at the efforts of a tiny crossing sweeper to clear a path for them, and gave him more than the penny he asked for the service. The milkmaids were driving their cows to sell their milk at the kitchen doors of the grand houses, the sweep with his diminutive helper was on his way to his first call, hawkers with their trays were establishing their pitches. A dray rumbled down the middle of the road, but had to give way to a cab rattling towards it at breakneck speed. Another day had begun.
What an entertaining evening, Maddox said, picking his way carefully between the puddles. I thought Sir George was going to have a seizure.
Do you know him well?