Chapter 11
Everything was dark, but Emerald was warm, snug, and trying to ignore the slow, steady movement rocking her awake. She wished for nothing more than to stay in whatever pleasant dream she was having, and was trying to nestle deeper into the comfort surrounding her, when her memory cleared and her eyes flew open.
Directly above her was the ruthless jaw and sharp chin of Beauden Calverleigh. His strong arms were wrapped around her, carrying her as one might a small sleeping child, as he wove his way through the tree line that followed the main road of Broadstairs.
‘Put—’ Her intended demand to be released was smothered almost before the first sound reached her own ears. In one swift movement, Beau had dropped her feet to the ground, pulled her back flush against his chest, and clapped a gloved hand over her mouth as the hood of her cloak fell back and gathered around the crown of her head.
‘One peep,’ he whispered in her ear, his voice firm but not menacing, ‘and I will gag you.’
She gasped against his hand, her ribs expanding under the weight of his arm.
‘Can you walk?’
Emerald bobbed her head. She was reeling from being held tight to his solid chest and bothered by how easily the lingering feel of his arms wrapped around her overcame the panic she’d felt when he’d approached her in the alley. Beau marched her forward several minutes longer, and she remained quiet, the war inside her between caution and desire depriving her of speech. At her other side, his valet appeared, but the man didn’t spare a second glance at her.
‘Your horse?’ asked Beau.
‘In the—’ Her voice came out scratchy and mangled. She cleared her throat and said again in a low whisper, ‘In the copse at the other end of the high street.’
Beau nodded to Saunders, who jogged ahead to a run-down barn and disappeared inside. When they caught up to the valet, he had already mounted his horse and was leaving through the door she and Beau had just entered. She watched Saunders a moment before the grip of strong hands around her waist startled a strange sound from her.
Without a word of explanation, Beau tossed her atop his horse. It crossed her mind to kick him, to swing for his head, jump down, run away. Except Saunders would likely hear the commotion and chase her, as would Beau, as she doubted her ability to do more than stun him. Besides, her fear had mostly waned. If Beau wished to harm her, she felt certain he would have done so already. And of course there was the matter of where she would even go. Regardless of whatever illegal thing he was involved in, she lived at his house.
With uncertain eyes, Emerald watched Beau tuck the wool fabric of her cloak under her, exposing the horn of the saddle. The feeling of his fingertips working along her leg sent an odd sensation rippling through her, beginning in her thigh and working its way down to the cold toes in her shoes and up to the hot tips of her freezing ears. He slipped a dirty boot into the stirrup and swung himself up behind her in the saddle, his arms slipping along either side of her as he took up the reins.
When they left the barn, Beau steered them towards a cart path inside the tree line, concealing the track a little from view. It was not the way she had come, and quick, disturbing thoughts flooded her mind. They paused, and she heard the clatter of horse hooves approaching. Her whole body tensed.
‘It’s all right,’ said Beau, his breath a wave of warmth cascading down the bare skin of her exposed neck. ‘That will be Saunders with your horse. We’ll make our way home together.’ She could feel the words vibrating in his chest as he spoke. Home. A hot tear pricked her eye.
His valet came through the trees, leading her horse Calliope by the reins, and made several odd, silent gestures, none of which made any sense to her. Beau adjusted her between his legs, the hard muscles of his thighs flexing against her hips.
Their pace was cautious, and with every step, Emerald could feel Beau’s body work to keep her centred and close against him on the horse. The heat radiating from him, the rhythmic motion, the fall after an unexpected rush of commotion were all taking their toll on her. Her eyelids felt heavy and fluttered against her will to remain awake. She attempted to straighten herself in the saddle without touching the man behind her—all around her, really—when his horse came to a sudden stop, and he snaked one of his arms around her midsection.
The movement startled Emerald, and the distant sound of rowdy men banished any possibility of falling asleep. Saunders came alongside them and cast a meaningful look at Beau. Emerald tried to turn her head to see how he responded but couldn’t do so without twisting. She tipped a little to one side and was met with the firm strength of a lean arm forcing her upright.
Beau peeled off the lane and picked his way through the trees, turning them deeper into the surrounding woodland until the road and cart path alike were blurred through long leafy limbs. The jeering grew closer, and Emerald felt like at any moment the men would burst through the foliage. Saunders dropped from his horse, cocked a pistol that appeared as if conjured by magic, and took up a post behind a thick chestnut tree a little way ahead, the dead branches breaking under his boots as he settled into his spot. His face was obscured, but she imagined his eyes tracking every movement between the wide trunks of the trees while he lay in wait, a predator ready to pounce. She noticed his other hand still held the reins of her horse, but not his own, which was now several feet from him, and she was wondering why when behind her, Beau shifted.
Emerald felt the cold air hit her back and, a moment later, was lifted from the saddle, her waist pinched between his firm, strong hands. He moved her as if she weighed nothing.
Taking her hand, he led her round an old downed trunk and pulled her to her knees next to him. She wondered if he could feel how her hand shook. The quick squeeze of pressure around her fingers was her answer. Her eyes darted up to his face, but his focus was trained ahead. The voices were nearly upon them. With effort, she focused all her attention on the smell of damp earth and wet bark, on the cracked, ridged wood under the hand she was using to stay upright.
There was a round of whooping. The rise of excited chatter enveloped her. Her heart sprang into her throat knowing at any second they would be outnumbered. She thought of the two men from earlier and considered the possibility they were part of the unruly group. Her stomach heaved with the certainty she would not be lucky enough to escape the lecher a second time. Emerald couldn’t stop her body from convulsing. Beau said nothing, but he sidled closer to her till they were arm to arm, hip to hip.
As the voices gradually grew more distant, Emerald released the breath she’d been holding, the gentle puff of air shaking on its release. She looked down to where their hands were still joined, wondering if he realised and what it meant, when a shot rang out. The wide bang filled the night air all around them. Beau was on her in a flash, his whole frame covering her own. She could feel his heartbeat through the layers of his clothes and was surprised by how regular, how steady it drummed when her own was so wild. Together they remained in that position until all sound except their breathing faded.
‘A misfire, it seems. Too much brandy, not enough sense,’ the valet said in hushed tones from the other side of the fallen trunk where Emerald and Beau remained.
With these words, Beau pushed up, taking her with him as he stood.
‘Idiots,’ he muttered.
Saunders had a firm hold on Calliope and was running a hand between her eyes in a calming motion. She wasn’t dancing, but her tail swished and she whinnied with unease. Emerald looked at the other horses. Both remained still, quiet, unruffled. A sharp pang of realisation darted through her. The horses were accustomed to the crack of gunfire. Logic forced her to accept the most obvious conclusion: Her guardian had reason to fire a gun. Often. Suddenly, she recalled Saunders withdrawing his own mysteriously from the air around him and knew by the heavy pit in her middle Beau had a pistol on his person as well. Her mind jumped. Whatever he was doing in Broadstairs, he was prepared to harm someone. Just not her.
Like in the barn, Beau said nothing when he put her on his horse, and the three of them continued on as if the entire startling event hadn’t happened.
It wasn’t until Oakmoss loomed in the distance, a great dark golden shadow against the night-blue sky, that he ventured to speak. ‘You’ve had quite a shock. Are you all right?’
Emerald nodded against him, determined to think of his lies and deceit, not the solid body and all its latent strength supporting her. But the question, asked with such gentle sincerity, sent a silent tear down her cheek. She would have preferred him to rail at her. She had expected him to. Her tongue darted out to lick the moisture off her lip, and she pushed down a thick swallow, not wishing to give herself away. The effort was for naught. A minute more, and her cheeks were sopping wet. Emerald was overwrought, but not from shock. When her anger and her fear of him faded the closer they drew to Oakmoss, she was left only with nauseating, sinking despair.
A little short of the stables, Beau brought the horse to a stop and dismounted. His fingers curled around her ribcage, his thumbs a hair’s breadth from the underside of her breasts. She slid down, doing her best to avert her face but conscious of how her legs, stomach, chest grazed against him. Her feet landed firmly on the ground, but his hands didn’t move. Emerald knew if she tipped up her head, she would find his icy blue eyes boring through her.
He said her name in a quiet, concerned voice.
She bit her lip, shook her head, and refused to look at him.
‘Miss Doubleday,’ he tried again, this time as his thumb brushed away the tear slipping down her cheek. ‘Won’t you look at me? Speak to me?’
Her eyes fluttered closed, unable to withstand the aching tenderness of the moment, and hot tears flowed from the tight seams, hiding an expression sure to give her away. She covered his hands with her own, pried them from her person, and fled to the house.