Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hugh wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A sturdy woman with fists like Peggy the Pugilist and the stare of Medusa, perhaps. Someone who lost command of her faculties at night and had a drawer of iron shackles.
Instead, the woman crossing the street was short and slender, her perfect blonde ringlets bobbing like obedient little soldiers.
“Emma. Thank heavens we’ve found you.” She seized Miss Vane’s hands, gripping hard enough to prevent escape. “Where on earth have you been? You disappeared from the theatre without a word. Was it the rum from Mrs Ashcombe’s flask? Thomas said it was potent enough to peel paint.”
For once, Miss Vane was speechless.
Colworth appeared, coming to stand in his wife’s shadow. He inclined his head to Hugh. “Stanton. I might ask how you know my sister-in-law, but her maid explained you have her writing for The Sentinel.”
So much for the maid’s loyalty. “Contrary to popular opinion, Miss Vane is capable of directing her own affairs. I’ve no stomach for coercion.”
Mrs Colworth’s cold eyes belied her polite smile. “She has a vivid imagination, sir, and a terrible thirst for adventure. She’s promised to Lord Howden, and he is so dreadfully worried.”
“I am not promised to Lord Howden,” Miss Vane snapped. And there she was, the woman who’d held him at gunpoint. “I have no intention of marrying him.”
Colworth drew a sealed letter from his pocket. “Howden asked that I give you this, Emma.” He thrust it into her hand, closing his fingers over hers. “He’s offering you the life your parents should have championed. Trust me. The world looks different once doors are closed to you.”
“I’m not a fool, Thomas. I know what Lord Howden offers.” The words sounded resentful, yet she kept hold of the letter when Colworth let go.
The squeeze behind Hugh’s ribs was a new sensation. He felt like snatching the missive from her hand and tossing it into the gutter.
“Jeffrey is besotted,” Mrs Colworth said, using Howden’s given name a little too comfortably. “He planned to propose last night before you disappeared from the retiring room. You should be riding around the park in his barouche, not trawling the streets looking for a story.”
Hugh glanced at Miss Vane. She’d been dazed last night. Had someone drugged her wine, hoping she’d take more than a few sips? Had Mrs Colworth wanted her pliant enough to accept the proposal? Or confused enough to be carried off to Gretna Green?
“Then leaving the Adelphi was the right decision,” she said. “I’ve told you. I cannot marry a man I don’t love.”
Mrs Colworth’s lips thinned. “Good Lord. You sound just like Mother. And look how that ended.” Her eyes turned glacial when she looked at Hugh. “I suppose you’ve filled her head with nonsense about independence and freedom.”
No, with thoughts far more primitive. None of them fit for a public street.
“Miss Vane is intelligent enough to decide for herself.”
His praise did not endear him to her sister. “She’s a fool. A reckless fool in need of saving from her own folly. I curse the day our parents made me responsible for her.”
“I’m three and twenty,” Miss Vane countered, “not twelve.”
“You live in our home,” Colworth said, his voice low with concern. It seemed he’d found his backbone. “We care for you. Trust me when I say Lord Howden is by far the better choice.”
“Not for me,” Miss Vane said softly.
“Don’t think he’ll marry you.” Mrs Colworth looked Hugh over as if he were last season’s gown in a modiste’s window. “He’s a self-proclaimed bachelor and was once friends with a fugitive.”
All but one was true.
He was still friends with Saint-Clair.
“Spare me your opinion, Mrs Colworth. When the truth about Hartham Colliery comes to light, you’ll find it difficult to show your face. Who will look the fool then?”
Mrs Colworth snapped like a terrier. “I know where she slept last night, Mr Stanton. And so will everyone else in London unless someone does the honourable thing.”
“Howden? Honourable?” He snorted.
“He won’t abuse her and toss her to the street.”
That struck a nerve. He could weather any accusation. But he’d be damned if he’d let Mrs Colworth paint him as the villain.
“As a man who insists on presenting an honest story,” he said, about to tell the biggest lie of his life, “you should know we were married last night by special licence. That’s why Emma left the theatre. That’s why I endured the pathetic play.”
Oh, how he relished the shock on their faces. But it was Miss Vane’s given name on his lips that warmed his blood.
Miss Vane inhaled sharply. For half a second, he expected outrage. Yet something softened in her eyes when she looked at him.
“You’ll have her clothes and belongings packed and sent to The Sentinel. That includes my coachman’s tricorn. I’ll expect them by day’s end, or you’ll hear from my solicitor. My wife is under my protection now.”
Mrs Colworth soon found her voice. “You secured a special licence from the Archbishop?”
Hugh gave her a look of weary patience. “The Archbishop has secretaries. Secretaries have debts. Must we discuss the machinery of matrimony in the street?”
Miss Vane slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, though she still held Howden’s letter. “I hope you’ll wish us well, Melinda.”
“Wish you well? Do you realise what you’ve done?”
“Married a man who stirs a great passion in me?”
Hugh smiled to himself. That last part was true.
“No, you dolt. Married one who’d ruin an innocent for a story.”
He couldn’t defend that without giving the game away. And after the way they’d kissed, ruin was hardly an unfair charge. Were it not for—
A sudden crack split the air.
Not a whip or a snapped wheel.
A pistol shot. Hugh was certain before the echo died.
Across the street, the Colworth horses reared, hooves striking the cobbles. The coach lurched sideways, the driver cursing as he fought the reins.
Colworth flinched and dragged his wife towards the coach, but she grabbed Miss Vane’s sleeve. “You’ll come with me. We’ll seek legal advice. If we claim coercion, we might get an annulment.”
Hugh grabbed Miss Vane and hauled her against him. “Ignore her. We need to leave now.” Before the next shot found its mark.
Rowton was already off the box, one hand catching the bridle of the nearest horse while the other disappeared beneath his coat.
“Do you see the trouble you’ve caused?” Mrs Colworth cried as her husband wrenched her away. “Someone wants that man dead.” She jabbed a finger at Hugh. “You’ll be caught in the crossfire. You’ll wish you’d married Lord Howden then.”
Hugh bundled Miss Vane into the carriage and climbed in after her. Rowton had the wheels moving before the door was shut. She gripped the strap as the vehicle swung hard into the street.
He couldn’t see the Colworths’ coach, but he saw Lady Bellingham at the upstairs window, still as a portrait, watching them flee.
The carriage rocked as they caught their breath and straightened their clothes. Hugh ran a hand over his chest. No blood. No wound. Only the sick certainty someone had fired.
“Are you all right, Miss Vane?” His gaze swept her pelisse, checking for blood rather than admiring the fit of it.
“Don’t you mean Mrs Stanton?” Her eyes narrowed into tight slits, pinning him to his seat. “I don’t know whether to strike you or kiss you.”
“If it helps, I know which I’d prefer.”
Her gaze travelled from his mouth to his chest and back again. “As my husband, you’re permitted to take liberties.”
He liked her when she was cross, the flush climbing her throat, her chin tipped in challenge. Marriage had never seemed less ridiculous. “Don’t mention liberties. My life has been chaos since the day I met you. I might forget everything I said was a lie.”
“Everything you said a moment ago or since the night you invited me into your apartment?”
“Since I broke every cardinal rule.” Since he’d shown her too much of the man he kept buried. “Marriage is one lie too many, but I could think of no other way to get that damn harpy off our backs.”
A lopsided smirk tugged at her mouth. “Melinda is more likely to make me a widow than accept defeat. All you’ve done is mark your card.”
“I’m not afraid of a woman who can’t survive without a nightly dose of laudanum.”
“We mustn’t underestimate her. She used the threat of Ripon to control me. The sooner we find Mr Bellingham’s killer, the sooner I can disappear.”
The last word irked him.
Where the hell would she go?
He sat back in the seat, trying to recall life before this madness. A quiet night with a book and a brandy. A joke shared with friends. The thrill of chasing a story. All fell short compared to a stolen kiss beneath a church pew and a heated one beside his bed.
“Your sister is the least of our problems,” he said, resisting the urge to snatch Howden’s letter and toss it out the window. “And there may be a simpler explanation for the shot.”
“That’s another lie, sir. Next you’ll say it was a barrel falling off a dray.” Her hand shook a little before she added, “Someone fired, likely to frighten us rather than wound.”
Next time it might not be a warning.
“You’ll stay at my apartment for the time being.” It wasn’t a suggestion. “Whoever killed Bellingham may seek to divide us.”
He said apartment, yet all he pictured was his bed. “Stay there as your wife? Or trust Melinda won’t tell half of London?”
The sister would find some way to use the knowledge to her advantage. “In whatever way it takes to protect you.” When that sounded too sentimental for a bachelor, he added, “When you decide to make your own way in the world, we’ll let people think we’re living separate lives.”
Her eyes misted, but she managed a faint smile. “I’ve caused you a terrible inconvenience, but I’m grateful to you. I can’t deal with this on my own.”
Her honesty disarmed him. He was used to bargaining, defiance, clever evasions. Not a woman admitting that she needed him.