Chapter 7
Chastity closed the door softly and leaned against it. Verity and the baby were both asleep and she hesitated to waken them. Or perhaps it was just that she needed a moment to think.
She went to the dressing table, took off her wig and hat, and looked in the cheval mirror. She was not in the habit of looking at herself these days, for it reminded her of the past, and what her father had done to her.
At first, with her hair a mere stubble, she had shunned mirrors and willingly worn the ugly caps. As it had grown a little, she had taught herself to accept the sight. It had become easier once she had thought of wearing her brother Victor’s old clothes. She did make quite a handsome boy.
Her father had cleared Walgrave Towers of all Verity’s and Chastity’s garments so she would have no opportunity to use them, but he had not thought of Victor’s and Fort’s.
Fort’s clothes were far too large, for her elder brother, Lord Thornhill, was twenty-eight and a big man.
Victor, however, was a slim eighteen. His old clothes had needed only the slightest alteration.
But she hated dressing this way.
She longed to wear silk gowns again, and hoops, and impractical, pretty satin slippers.
She wanted to have long, lustrous curls brushing her shoulders, a kissing patch by her lips, and a fan.
She picked up Verity’s comb and imagined it a fan.
She extended it shut. Do you love me? She pretended to open and shut it.
You are cruel. She touched it to her lips.
You may kiss me. She drew it slowly across her cheek. I love you, Lord Cyn.
She dropped the comb. No, not that! How had she come to feel that way about Cyn Malloren when she’d thought she would never trust a man again? Perhaps it had been the look on his face when he held William. Or his kindness to Verity. Or his kindness to prickly Charles.
Perhaps it was his joyous spirit, the sheer zest with which he faced life, his delight in challenge . . .
She turned away from the mirror, fighting the madness.
There was no place for fantasy at such a time of danger, and anyway, it would only be the path to heartbreak.
If she revealed herself to be a woman, she would be a freak with cropped hair.
She would probably have to tell him she was that whore, Chastity Ware.
Even if he was interested in her, it would only be for a quick roll in the nearest bed.
Lud, but she must be a whore at heart, for that impossible notion sent a tingle of longing through her.
It was all the fault of that fake kiss.
She had never much cared for kisses. When Henry Vernham had forced a kiss on her, she’d felt like gagging.
She’d told her father, expecting to have Vernham punished for it, but Walgrave had told her not to be missish with her future husband.
The next time Vernham had tried it, Chastity had jabbed him with her embroidery scissors.
That memory brought a grim smile of satisfaction to her face. As punishment, she’d had to endure one of her father’s chilling rages, but Vernham hadn’t tried such an assault again.
Chastity had to confess, however, that while kissing Cyn Malloren, she’d felt no urge to fight. The very opposite. His kiss had made her feel warm and soft, and she’d wanted to deepen it, to explore him more fully.
She pressed her hands over her face. And even if by some miracle he cared, and still cared when he knew the truth, she could not let anything come of it, for it would destroy him.
They would never find happiness among sneers and scandal, and, worse than that, he would not tolerate any insult to her.
Sooner or later it would come to a duel. She would be his death.
Chastity made her grim resolve. She must put all sentiment aside and concentrate on their purpose, getting Verity and William safe to Maidenhead. Then she would send Cyn Malloren on his merry way unencumbered.
She gently woke her sister and explained the problem. She soothed Verity’s fears and helped her to prepare the baby. She smiled encouragement. “Ready? Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here in a twitch of a cat’s whisker, and Henry will decide he was mistaken in thinking he saw me.”
Verity made a gallant attempt to smile back, and they went out to join Lord Cyn.
“Ready?” he asked. When they nodded he said, “The coach is waiting and I’ve primed a gossipy maid with the story of my romantic flight with my young lover.” He fluttered his lashes. “I think she rather envied me—an old hen with such a tender rooster. So, heads down and straight to the coach!”
They hurried down the stairs. As they crossed the hall toward the coach yard, Cyn said, “Go ahead. I’ll follow in a moment.”
Chastity wondered frantically what he was up to, but now wasn’t the moment to debate the matter. She steered Verity out to the waiting coach. From within, she watched anxiously for Cyn’s appearance.
She ducked back when she saw Henry Vernham stalking toward the inn. Through the edge of the window, she saw Cyn emerge and wanted to scream a warning. He stopped. Vernham stopped.
Cyn did a perfect play of a terrified, guilty female. He shrank back, half-covered his face with the paper in his hands, then scuttled past Vernham and into the coach. Vernham sneered after him and continued into the inn.
Cyn took his seat, an ostler slammed the door, Hoskins cracked his whip, and the coach pulled out into the high street.
Verity was pressed into the corner, clutching William far too tightly. “Did he see me?”
“Of course not,” said Cyn, tossing the crumpled paper onto Chastity’s seat. “And we’re away now.”
“But he’ll pursue us!”
“Why? He thinks he saw Charles, and that makes him think you’re in the area. He’ll inquire of every inn in Salisbury and find no Charles, and no one to fit your description.”
“But,” said Chastity, “what if he thinks to inquire about babies?”
“Good point,” said Cyn with a sharply appreciative look. “With that tack he’ll soon find that the naughty lady of the meadows had a babe the right age. He just might put the pieces together.” He looked at Verity. “How clever is this man?”
She bit her lip. “He’s no fool. He’s a self-centered wastrel, but he has a shrewd brain when he cares to use it.”
Cyn opened the hatch. “Spring ’em, Hoskins.” The carriage bumped and rolled as the team went into a gallop.
Verity was white as a sheet. “We can’t possibly escape! If they catch us, Lord Cyn, promise you’ll do all in your power to get William away.”
“Of course we can escape,” he said firmly, “but I promise nothing will happen to your child.” He put a hand over Verity’s and looked into her eyes. “Trust me.”
Chastity felt a pain in her chest, a real physical pain. If only Cyn would look at her as directly and promise to keep her safe. Oh, she was in a sorry state.
She remembered him describing his trade as an officer responsible for the lives of many men; she saw he would be good at it. He would be lighthearted in season, keeping spirits high, but underneath there would always be the steel of courage and efficiency.
She reminded herself of her resolve, but the awareness of her love was too new, and she found herself staring at him, drinking in every detail . . .
She wrenched her eyes away. They focused on the paper he’d tossed on the seat beside her. Her heart thudded. He had stopped to purchase an up-to-date copy of the Gazette. The front page was crushed back and she could see the headline of an item. BARONET ’S WIDOW AND HEIR MISSING.
Oh, sweet heavens.
The names would be disguised in the usual way . . . widow of Sir W***m V****m, of Gloucestershire . . . , but everyone who was anyone would know. Would the paper hint at past scandals in the family? More than likely, she thought with a shudder. What news-sheet could resist such a juicy on dit?
Cyn hadn’t linked the Earl of Walgrave with Chastity Ware, she reasoned. He had been sick when the full torrent of Chastity’s scandal had burst. He must have heard something, however, during his months in England. Let the name Ware enter into things and he must surely make the connection.
The gossipmongers and the caricaturists had quickly made the link between Chastity Ware and Haymarket ware, or whores. And what fun they had with her Christian name! As soon as Cyn read the paper, he would know all. He would despise her—or, even worse, he would consider her fair game.
The newspaper assumed the nature of a cocked pistol, ready to be triggered by the next bump in the road. She tried desperately to think of a plausible excuse to throw it out the window . . .
“Charles!”
She jumped at Cyn’s sharp voice and guessed he had been trying to gain her attention.
“Yes?”
“Pull yourself together. It’s understandable for Verity to be a little overset, but I expect you to be made of sterner stuff. We are making plans.”
At least that meant he wasn’t reading the paper. Chastity assumed her apparent maleness like armor. “Good,” she said crisply. “What are we to do?”
Cyn eyed her keenly for a moment, then nodded. “It is my assessment that even if Vernham does pursue us, he won’t catch us till late afternoon. He’ll have to stop and check each inn in case we’ve halted, and that will slow him. We can relax and make plans.”
“But what if he alerts others, such as the military?”
“That is a danger, though even that sort of pursuit should be considerably delayed. I’m sure we have a good head start, but if Vernham does become suspicious we cannot possibly make Maidenhead without being caught.
If we try to stop for the night on this road, he will come up with us, and these moonless nights are too dark for traveling. ”
“So what are we to do?” asked Verity with a calm which spoke volumes for Cyn Malloren’s ability to inspire trust.
“I suggest we leave the London road and go to Winchester.”
The sisters shared a look of astonishment.
“Winchester?” echoed Verity. “Why?”