Chapter 7
MARGARET WAITED INSIDE HER COACH. It was toasty warm with a brazier burning and a thick lap robe, so cozy that Edna had fallen asleep on the seat across from her, the hour being so early.
Oliver was driving them as usual. It was her father’s coach, crested, and so comfortable she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of traveling without it, so she’d had it shipped to the Continent with her.
It had cost her two extra days’ wait in England for a ship that would agree to take on such a large piece of cargo without prior warning, but she’d been adamant and had waited.
She hoped there wouldn’t be another delay in shipping the coach back home, especially now that she’d be traveling the rest of the way with him.
Edna and Oliver had certainly been relieved to find out who The Raven actually was when she’d told them last night. Much better in their minds that she’d be traveling with the disgraced son of an earl who was at least known to them, rather than a deadly foreign mercenary who wasn’t.
There was no light visible from inside the ruins, but then there probably wouldn’t be even if the lamps were lit.
The only windows in the livable rooms didn’t face the front, after all.
It was barely dawn. Margaret rarely rose so early, but she didn’t want to be accused of being late and give him an excuse to beg off from their arrangement.
The road to the coast and the nearest harbor at Le Havre wound near Sebastian’s ruins.
They hadn’t said where they would meet, so she’d taken it upon herself to start the journey and collect him on the way.
She could just make out one of the horses inside the great hall, so she was sure she hadn’t missed him.
He was in there, and she hoped not still asleep.
She’d give him twenty minutes more before she sent Oliver in to get him.
Twenty minutes later there was still no sign of anyone stirring within the old ruins.
It had begun to occur to Margaret that her expectations could well be dashed.
Sebastian had had time to sleep on it, after all.
He’d probably changed his mind, the dratted man.
He was going to come out and rudely tell her to leave again.
And then the boy came out, leading a placid mare.
He waved toward the coach and flashed a grin so wide that Margaret couldn’t help smiling.
Such a likable young lad. She wondered what he was doing living with such a dour fellow as Sebastian Townshend.
He was a bit young to have been hired as a stableboy, but she supposed he could be no more than that.
John Richards followed him, leading his horse as well. He stopped to adjust a few straps on the animal. There was no baggage of any sort that she could see. Surely they traveled with a few changes of clothes—or perhaps they weren’t planning to come with her.
She wasn’t going to be assured that Sebastian hadn’t changed his mind until she actually spoke to him.
She’d forced his hand, after all. He hadn’t been the least bit serious about accepting the job, no matter the unheard-of price he’d arbitrarily tossed out as the deciding factor.
And she’d been temporarily insane to accept that price.
She didn’t exactly have that kind of money lying around to pay him with.
It could very well pauper her to come up with it.
She should have just accepted his refusal and gone home alone. She’d been gone for four months. For all she knew, there could have been another accident during that time. Douglas might already be dead....
She paled at the thought. Good God, she hoped not.
But the irony was there, that she could be paupering herself for naught.
She didn’t think Sebastian would have the decency to release her from the obligation if they did find out his father was already dead.
He used to be a decent sort and a lot more.
He used to be a charming young man, honorable, exemplary, quite the catch in his day, heir to an earldom, rich, exceptionally handsome, and well liked by his peers.
Of course, she knew none of that at the time, hadn’t been interested in such things at the age she’d been before he left England.
She’d heard it all after the fact, the bemoaning of certain ladies who missed him, the bemoaning of old dames who’d hoped to lure him into their families with one female relative or another.
But she had been fascinated by him, and she’d never been able to forget the night she’d spied on him in the garden behind her home.
The terrace had been well lit, the garden just beyond it hadn’t been, and he’d managed a rendezvous with one of Eleanor’s friends there.
She’d followed him only because she’d been surreptitiously watching him from the edges of the party since he’d arrived.
She hadn’t expected to come around a hedge and almost collide with him and the lady.
They were already kissing! That was so quick, he must have started it as soon as he’d found the lady there.
And they were so involved in the kissing that they hadn’t heard her approach.
She’d jumped back behind the hedge, embarrassed at first, but then her curiosity got the better of her and she’d poked her head around to watch them.
Her eyes had adjusted by then to the moonlight filtering down through the treetop.
They were in an alcove in the garden, with a tree at the center and a bench set below it, surrounded by flowers and hedges.
She used to come there herself to read in the summer.
She never went there again after that night, so potent was the memory of watching Sebastian in such a sensual embrace, the lady trapped in his arms and not minding a’tall.
Or maybe the lady didn’t notice when his hand caressed her derriere, or stopped briefly to feel her breast. She seemed too enthralled to be aware of anything other than his kiss, and yet, he was doing so much more than just kissing her.
His hands were all over her, and his body, oh my, the way he used his body to such titillating effect...
Margaret always wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t broken that twig when she’d lost her balance trying to get a better view of them.
That twig had made a bloody loud noise. A slap had followed, then the lady ran back to the house.
Maggie had watched her run off, then turned back to find Sebastian’s golden eyes on her.
He didn’t appear upset. If anything, his raised brow indicated some amusement.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he’d asked her.
“Yes.”
“Like breaking rules, do you?”
“Yes.”
She could blame her frustration at being discovered for those silly answers, but he’d been amused enough to grin as he came to stand next to her.
“Why’d she slap you?” Maggie had asked curiously.
He’d shrugged, hadn’t seemed the least bit annoyed about it.
“Proper thing to do, I suppose,” he’d said, “after she realized there were precocious eyes in the shadows.” And then he’d tilted her chin up and winked at her.
“Word of advice, moppet. Grow up a few years before you steal off for an innocent kiss or two at parties.”
“With you?”
He’d laughed. “Doubt I can wait that long to settle down, but you never know.” And then he’d strolled off, never realizing the profound effect he’d had on her.
He was no longer the heir to Edgewood. He was certainly no longer the charmer. And she didn’t doubt that decency was now far beyond his capabilities. But he obviously knew how to get things done, or he wouldn’t have such a glowing reputation as The Raven.
He finally came out—already mounted on his stallion!
What a sinister picture the two of them made, black stallion, Sebastian in a black greatcoat, man and horse on the steps of those ruins, crumbling stones all around them, a cloud-laden dawn sky behind them.
A shiver passed down Margaret’s back. She must be mad to associate with him at all.
He simply wasn’t the man he used to be, wasn’t the man she’d pictured when she set out to find him.
What the devil was she getting herself into?
Sebastian walked his horse slowly to the coach, drew abreast of the window, which she opened. He had no luggage attached to his mount either. Maybe he was still going to order her to leave.
She held her breath, waiting for all her doubts to be abruptly realized. He raised a brow at her. Was her face turning blue? she wondered. She let her breath out in a whoosh, which he surely heard.
She even detected a smirk in his tone when he said, “Afraid I wouldn’t meet you in town?”
There was no point in denying it. “Actually—that did occur to me.”
He stared at her for a long moment before he sighed and said, “Given our brief conversation, I will allow that you had no way to know that once I accept a job I will see it through to the end.”
“So you were about to head into town?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, be glad I’ve saved you the trouble,” she said pertly, and then she recollected her manners and introduced Edna to him, who was quite wide-eyed with her first sight of him.
“And my driver, Oliver, is Edna’s husband.
If you have any luggage you want to put on the coach, Oliver can help you. ”
He shook his head. “My caretaker transported what we’re taking with us to Le Havre yesterday.”
She was surprised. So he’d had no second thoughts?
Before he could change his mind, she suggested, “Shall we be off? If we hurry, we can possibly catch ship by this afternoon.”
“Highly doubtful,” he replied, the smirk back in his tone. “But as you wish.”
He turned his horse about and took off down the road, with John and Timothy close behind him. Margaret took a moment to deal with her maid’s amazement.
“You can close your mouth now, Edna.”
The older woman humphed to cover her blush. “Goodness, I never would have recognized him. And I hope I was just imagining that dangerous air about him.”
Margaret sighed. “It wasn’t your imagination, but his intimidating manner is to be expected, considering the profession he took up. Just keep in mind he’s still Sebastian Townshend.”
“Yes, there is his impeccable lineage, and he’s quite handsome, too. Or didn’t you notice that?”
Margaret would have to be blind to not notice that, but she pretended not to hear Edna’s question and focused on the view out the window. Oliver had to crack his whip a few times to keep up with the trio as the morning wore on.
It was a bumpy ride for the most part. The roads, which had been exceptionally good throughout most of France, weren’t well maintained in this area, at least not until they reached the main road to Le Havre.
But they were in luck when they arrived at the docks of the old harbor on the northern coast of France.
One ship was late departing because its crew had had a bit too much fun carousing the night before.
They’d lost their passenger list, too, because of that delay, so they were happy to take on Margaret and her entourage.
Even her coach was quickly hefted aboard.
Before she knew it, they were sailing out into the channel.
Come what may, Margaret had made her bargain. She just hoped she wouldn’t live to regret bringing Sebastian Townshend home to England.