that Rachel was so revolted at the thought of marrying him that she was willing to forfeit her reputation—not to mention a life of ease—in order to avoid becoming his wife.
He had come to know in that evening the depths of pain which love brought…as well as the extent to which love for Rachel had wrapped around his heart and all through his body, to the point that he could not despise her no matter how much he wanted to, could not wish for her the misery his wounded heart cried out to inflict on someone. Pride and bitter hurt had called out for revenge, yet he had known, even as he rode grimly after her, that in the end, given the chance, he would not exact that revenge.
The upstairs maid crept quietly into his room and was clearly startled to find him up. She scurried about her business, scraping the ashes from the fire and lighting a new one, then slipped out. Michael rang for his breakfast tray. After that, his valet would bring heated water for shaving and lay out his clothes, and his day would begin. But for now, Michael stood before the fire, holding his hands out to the warmth, welcome in the chill of a spring dawn, and watched the flames dance—and remembered the night he brought Rachel back.
He and Ravenscar rode grimly through the darkness. It had not been difficult to follow the escaping couple. From the bottom of the gardens, the tracks of the doubly loaded horse led along the edge of the meadow and onto the road, where they had clearly headed east, toward the village. There, he and Ravenscar stopped to enquire at the inn whether a couple had stopped, and the innkeeper cheerfully responded that indeed, a young man had come by seeking to hire a carriage only an hour or so earlier, and there had been, the innkeeper thought, a young woman waiting out in the yard for him, but as she had been wearing a hooded cloak, he had not gotten a proper look at her.
“Friends of yours, my lord?” the innkeeper asked, curiosity mingling with the friendly respect in his face.
Michael smiled with a look of ease that he did not feel, glad that his experiences dealing with spies during the war had engendered in him an ability to dissemble, and replied, “Yes, a foolish young man who took offense, I’m afraid, and rode off into the night. I must see if I can bring him back before he puts his poor wife through much more trouble.”
“Ah, I see. Yes, I thought he was awful unprepared-like, seekin’ a vehicle at that time of night. ’Course, I had nothin’ to give him, and I told him so. No place nearer than Coxley would have an inn big enough to be hirin’ out post chaises. That’s where I told him to go.”
“Very good. Perhaps I will catch up to him there. Thank you for your trouble.” Michael tipped the innkeeper a goldboy just to ensure his continued allegiance and strode out to rejoin Lord Ravenscar.
“The fool tried to hire a post chaise here at this time of night,” Michael said. Anger surged through him—how could the man have enticed Rachel to run away with him, knowing that he had not even made arrangements for their escape? He was clearly an idiot or a scoundrel or both.
They pushed onward and ran the couple to ground in Coxley not long after midnight. There was no bustle of a carriage being prepared in the courtyard of the inn, but the lights were on inside the place, and an irritated innkeeper opened the door to their knock. On hearing they were seeking a young couple, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward a closed door across the hall from the public room.
“They’re in the private sitting room there, sir, and if ye can talk some sense into that young man’s head, it’ll be a great favor to me, I’ll tell ye. Fool wants me roust out me grooms and set him and his wife up in a post chaise. At this time of night. I told him he’d have to wait ’til the morning, like any decent body would, but he’s been carrying on like a scalded cat about spending the night in a ‘grubby country inn.’ I ask ye—”
“He’ll win no awards for tact,” Michael agreed calmly. “Don’t worry. We shall handle him for you. Go back to bed and don’t worry about it. They will be leaving with us.”
“Thank you, sir.” The innkeeper nodded his head gratefully. “I can always tell real quality, sir, and yer it, not like some young pups I could mention.” He nodded his head significantly toward the closed door, then turned, picked up his candle and waddled off down the back hall to his quarters.
Ravenscar had been waiting impatiently all through the innkeeper’s conversation, and as soon as he left, Rachel’s father strode across and unceremoniously opened the door and walked in. Michael followed quickly, closing the door behind them.
Rachel sat in a chair across the room, her elbow propped on the arm of the chair and her head on her hand, looking wilted. A young man with a thick head of black hair and handsome features was striding impatiently back and forth across the floor. He swung around at their entrance, but it was clear from the stunned expression on his face that he was not expecting to see Michael and Ravenscar.
“Good God!” he exclaimed involuntarily.
Rachel looked up at the force of his exclamation, and she froze when she saw their visitors. She jumped to her feet, her hands clutching her skirts, and the fear on her face pierced Michael’s heart anew. “F-father! Lord Westhampton!”
“Did you think you would get away?” Lord Ravenscar roared, his face flooding red with fury. “Did you think you could just dash off and nothing would happen? Have you gone mad? Are you dead to all sense of propriety?”
“Lord Ravenscar…” Michael began, coming up beside him.
Ravenscar cast him a single cold glance, saying, “No. Unfortunately she is not your wife yet, Westhampton. She is still my concern.” He turned back to his daughter, saying, “Your mother is prostrate with grief. You have ruined us all.”
Rachel’s face turned even paler, and tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I did not want to hurt anyone.”
“My lord, it was all my fault.” The young man came to stand between Rachel and her father. “I begged Rachel to run away and marry me.”
“Of course it’s your fault!” Ravenscar roared. “Do you think I don’t know that? This one hasn’t the wit to come up with an idea like that. But you couldn’t keep from seducing her, could you?”
“My lord!” Birkshaw gasped. “I did not touch her, I swear! I love your daughter!”
Ravenscar’s face went from red to purple as Birkshaw’s words rendered him speechless for the moment.
“You have an odd way of demonstrating your affection,” Michael said crisply, stepping into the gap. “Convincing Miss Aincourt to elope with you practically on the eve of her wedding, with scores of guests here to witness the scandal. You have exposed her to unimaginable gossip and encouraged her to break her trust, all the while knowing that you have not the means to support a wife. And you hadn’t even the foresight to hire a carriage to make your escape,” he finished in disgust.
The other man flushed, whether from anger or shame, Michael was not sure. “I know you have good reason to hate me, my lord, and I beg your pardon. I had no intention of doing wrong to you. It is just that my love for Miss Aincourt is overwhelming.”
Birkshaw turned to look at Rachel, and she smiled at him through her tears, love glowing on her face. Michael felt as if a knife had just sliced through his vital organs. He turned and walked away, struggling to compose himself. Rachel had never looked at him with even a third of that emotion, and he saw clearly now that he had no hope of becoming the man she loved. He walked over to the sideboard, staring blindly down at the rough wood surface,
