Kasey Michaels - The Taming of the Rake

“What on earth do you think you’re—”

She got no further, because he’d unceremoniously dragged her out of the sidesaddle, holding on to her as he kicked his feet free of the stirrups and rolled the two of them onto the ground.

“You had to wear red,” he gritted out just as he rolled on top of her, covering as much of her riding habit as he could with his body even while reaching up one hand to grab on to the bridles of both horses, to keep them in place. “Lie still, damn it.”

He could feel the rumble now, and by the way Chelsea’s magnificently expressive eyes widened, he was sure that she, lying on her back in the weeds, could feel it even more.

Horses, at least a dozen, were approaching rapidly. There had been other travelers along the way, but this was different. This was like the advance of a small troop of soldiers. If he sniffed the air, he could almost smell the stink of pursuit; he imagined a cavalry charging down a hill and into the fray of battle.

Beau lifted his head slightly, peering through the long grass and underbrush, hoping he would not see any hint of his brother on the far side of the road. He didn’t. What he did see, about ten seconds later, were a dozen horsemen, four of them wearing the Brean livery, pounding past them, not sparing their horses.

“How?” he asked, not really addressing Chelsea, who still lay beneath him, her complexion gone rather pink. “How did he know?”

“I think I can answer that, and I apologize for not thinking of it sooner,” she said, pushing at his shoulders. “Thomas loathes you, most especially so since he has been losing money while you, so clearly his inferior, are also so clearly odiously wealthy. I’ve heard him go on for hours about you with Reverend Flotley, as you are the one sin Thomas can’t seem to expunge with prayer. How he detests you. Your father’s money. All those unentailed estates the marquess plans to gift you and your brothers with upon his demise. The Grosvenor Square mansion. The hunting box in Scotland, the townhouse in Paris. The box at Covent Garden.”

“The yacht berthed at Brighton,” Beau supplied dully, shaking his head, cursing himself for his stupidity. “He’s probably got men riding to each of my father’s properties. Damn.”

“Yes, well,” Chelsea continued, still pressing against his shoulders. “Now that that’s explained …?”

Beau looked down into her face once more, belatedly becoming aware—very aware—of her body beneath his. “I was attempting to cover up your red habit,” he explained, still not moving. “Are you all right? Am I crushing you? You seemed uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine. I’ve … I’ve simply never been this … close to a man before.”

“Is that so?” he said, smiling … and still not moving.

“Oh, don’t look so smug. I didn’t say I liked it. Now get off me!”

“Ah, getting to know each other better, I see,” Puck said from somewhere above them. “Good for you.”

Beau rolled himself away from Chelsea and got to his feet, helping her up, as well. “You can’t go to Brighton,” he told his brother unnecessarily. “And I can’t take Chelsea to Blackdown, damn it.”

Puck sat himself down on a tree stump, taking off his curly brimmed beaver and slapping at it with one of his riding gloves to rid it of road dust. “You know, Beau, I’ve always looked up to you and Jack. The elders, the ones I’d turn to for assistance and advice. I probably shouldn’t have done that. You’re no smarter than I am, and Jack, probably considerably less. May I make a suggestion?”

“No,” Beau barked just as Chelsea said, “Yes, please.”

“Making my vote the tiebreaker,” Puck pointed out happily, “and I vote that I make the suggestion. Let’s head back to Grosvenor Square. It will be nightfall by the time we get there, so no one will see us if we keep to the same dank alleyways we employed for our exit. A good meal, soft beds, Wadsworth and his fellow former soldiers keeping guard. Yes, it’s brilliant.”

“It is, you know,” Chelsea said, tugging on Beau’s arm. “Thomas has everyone out hunting us, with him self leading one of the groups, I’m sure. No one would think to look for us back where we started. Besides, then perhaps I can sneak back into the house and gather more clothing. The servants all dislike Thomas, but they seem to like me. They’ll help, I’m certain of that. Because I checked when we stopped at that inn a while ago, and all Beatrice seemed to pack for me was some clean under—well, she didn’t pack much at all, not even my tooth powder. And I do want to apologize if Beatrice was punished in any way.”

“I should have allowed you to figuratively throw yourself on the sword, Puck, and sent you two off to Gretna Green while I stayed behind to fend off Brean. You suit each other so well, the both of you missing several slates off your roofs. Go back to London? Sneak into the house you’ve just escaped in order to pack your tooth powder?” He rubbed at his forehead. “I’m never going to be rid of this headache, am I?”

“Don’t be such a stick,” Puck told him. “My part of the plan is brilliant.”

“It is, you know,” Chelsea said, smiling at Puck. “After all, who looks for something twice in the same place, when the something you were looking for wasn’t there when you looked the first time. I mean, it would be rather pointless, wouldn’t it?”

“Beau? Did you hear that? Beau? It’s getting on toward five, and we really should be on more familiar roads before dark. Because you’re right when you say I can’t continue on to Brighton, and you certainly would be all kinds of a fool if you took Chelsea to Blackdown. Where else is there you’d have us go?”

“I’d answer that,” Beau bit out, feeling rather abused, “but supposedly there is a lady present. All right, let’s go.”

“I STILL DON’T SEE why I must be involved,” Madelyn said as she stripped off her gloves and tossed them in the general direction of her long-suffering maid. “For pity’s sake, Thomas, just go get her, you and your conscience over there, hulking like some great black crow. You have to know where she’s gone. And I, God help me, know why. Marry her to that? It wasn’t enough for you to have destroyed my life?”

“I think you did that rather effectively on your own, Madelyn,” Thomas said, although he retreated to the mantelpiece before he said it.

Lady Madelyn sat herself down in the drawing room of the mansion in Portland Place, slapping at her maid’s hands as that woman attempted to relieve her of her short, fur-trimmed pelisse. “Will you just go away? I decide whether or not I wish to be shed of my clothing, and I do not.”

“For which you have my eternal gratitude, dear sister,” the earl told her. “Now, if we could only keep you from shedding it as do trees their leaves each fall, and with all and sundry, I might consider my prayers answered.”

“Prayers? I liked you better when you were godless, dear brother , not that I ever liked you much at all. It wasn’t as if you were actually going to die , you know. None of my brats did, now did they? This man here has sold you a bill of goods. Or should I say that’s the other way round, hmm? How much lighter are your pockets since the black crow here pecked his way into your life promising salvation?”

The Reverend Flotley bowed to the earl. “I should retire, my lord. This is clearly a family matter, and I should not wish to intrude, as I am not family.”

“No, but you’re as near as such, and when we get Chelsea back from that arrogant, encroaching bastard, you will be.”

Madelyn had taken a small mirror from her reticule and at that moment was examining her reflection, clearly pleased with the look of her new bonnet with the dark blue ribbon as it contrasted so well with her white-blond hair while highlighting her blue eyes. “Yes, yes, Thomas, and who is this encroaching bastard? Some half-pay officer with a winning smile and empty pockets, I’d suppose. That would be just like my silly sister. You play with the ineligible if they take your fancy, but you don’t marry them. Do I know him?”