Nicola Cornick - Wayward Widow

‘What in God’s name do you think you are doing?’

‘Calm yourself, Lady Juliana.’ The gentleman sounded amused. ‘I am abducting you. Surely that is all par for the course for a lady of your reputation? Or do you prefer to do the kidnapping yourself?’

Juliana sat up straighter. She recognised that voice with its undertone of mockery. Now that her vision was clearing she could see her companion’s face. She sat up straighter.

‘Mr Davencourt! I did not request your escort anywhere! Kindly instruct your coachman to halt the horses so that I may get down.’

‘I regret that I cannot do that,’ Martin Davencourt said imperturbably. He had taken the seat across from Juliana and now sat negligently at ease, watching her with casual indifference. Juliana felt her blood fizz with irritation.

‘Pray, why not? It seems a simple enough request.’

Martin Davencourt shrugged. ‘Did you ever hear of an abduction ending so tamely? I do not think so. I cannot let you go, Lady Juliana.’

Juliana felt as though she was going to explode with annoyance. Her eyes were still streaming, her head ached and this insufferable man was acting as though one of them was mad and she knew which one. She tried to speak calmly.

‘Then the least that you can offer me in all courtesy is an explanation. I can scarce believe that you make a habit of abducting ladies like this, Mr Davencourt. You would be in Newgate if you did, and besides, you are far too respectable to do such a thing!’

Martin tilted his head to look at her. ‘Is that a challenge?’

‘No!’ Juliana turned her face away haughtily. ‘It is an insult!’

She diverted her gaze to the window, where the London streets were slipping past. She briefly considered jumping from the carriage, but rejected the idea as foolhardy. They were not travelling quickly—London traffic seldom did—but it was still a reckless idea and she would end up looking untidy or, worse, twisting her ankle.

She glanced back at Martin Davencourt. Perhaps he had conceived a hopeless passion for her the previous night and thought to carry her off to press his attentions on her. Juliana had a certain vanity, but she also had common sense and she knew this was unlikely. Only a half-hour earlier, Martin had looked at her with contempt, not appreciation. He was looking at her again now. His gaze moved over her thoughtfully as though he was making an inventory of her features. Juliana raised her chin.

‘Well?’

A smile twitched Martin Davencourt’s firm mouth. There were sunburned lines about his eyes that suggested that he laughed often. There were also two long grooves down his cheeks that deepened when he smiled. With a jolt of memory, Juliana recalled the curious pull of attraction she had felt for that smile when she was a girl. It was very appealing. He was very attractive. Juliana was irritated to realise that she found him so.

‘Well what?’ Martin said.

His coolness set Juliana back a little. She cleared her throat.

‘Well…I am still awaiting your explanation, sir. I realise that you have been absent from London for a long time, but it is not customary to behave in such a manner, you know. Even I seldom get abducted these days.’

Martin laughed. ‘Hence the need to create a stir in other ways, I suppose. I do feel that disrupting your lover’s wedding is particularly bad ton, Lady Juliana.’

Juliana frowned. ‘Disrupting…Oh, I see! You thought that I intended to make a scene!’

Despite herself, Juliana could not help a smile. So Martin had thought that she was intending to act the discarded mistress, throwing herself before the altar in a last passionate, tearful farewell. She stifled a laugh. Andrew Brookes was scarcely worth such a scene even if she had been inclined to make one. She looked at Martin, her eyes bright with mirth.

‘You are mistaken, sir. I had no such intention—’

But Martin had seen her smile and misinterpreted it. His lips set in a hard line.

‘Save your breath, Lady Juliana. I thought that your escapade last night was outrageous enough, in all truth, but this is beyond everything. The scarlet dress…’ His gaze flicked her again. ‘The crocodile tears…You are a consummate actress, are you not?’

Juliana caught her breath. ‘Tears? I suffer from the hay fever—’

Martin looked out of the window as though her explanations were of no interest to him. ‘You may spare me your denials. We have arrived.’

Juliana peered out of the window. They were in a pretty little square with tall town houses that were much like her own. The carriage rattled through a narrow archway and into a stable yard. Juliana turned to look at Martin.

‘Arrived where? The only place at which I wish to arrive is my own doorstep!’

Martin sighed. ‘I dare say. I cannot leave you alone, however, so I have brought you to my home. I promised my aunt that I would keep an eye on you and prevent you from ruining the wedding.’

Juliana sat back. ‘Your aunt? I collect that you mean Miss Havard’s mama?’

‘Precisely. She heard that you were Brookes’s mistress and was afraid that you would do something outrageous to ruin her daughter’s wedding day. It seems that she was quite right.’

‘I see.’ Juliana took a deep breath. ‘I thought that I was inventive, Mr Davencourt, but your imagination far outruns mine. Still, with such madness in the family, who can be surprised? I assure you that you—and Mrs Havard—are quite mistaken.’

‘I would like to believe you,’ Martin said politely, ‘but I fear that I cannot take the risk. If I let you go now, you would surely be in time to ruin the wedding breakfast.’

‘Perhaps I could dance on the table,’ Juliana said sarcastically, ‘unveiling myself as I did so!’

‘You did that last night, as I recall.’ Martin Davencourt’s gaze pinned her to the seat. ‘Now do you come inside willingly or must I carry you? It would be undignified for you, I fear.’

Juliana glared at him. ‘I never do anything undignified.’

Martin laughed. ‘Is that so? What about the time you visited Dr Graham’s famous nude mud baths in Piccadilly and insisted on the servants taking the bathtub outside? That must have provided quite a spectacle for the populace! How decorous was that?’

‘The mud-bathing was for the good of my health,’ Juliana said haughtily. ‘Besides, one would hardly bathe with one’s clothes on. Think of the dirtiness.’

‘Hmm. Your argument is unconvincing. And what about the occasion on which you dressed as a demi-mondaine to trick Lord Berkeley into betraying his wife? Was that dignified? Was it even kind?’

‘That was only a jest,’ Juliana said sulkily. She was beginning to feel like a naughty child receiving a telling off. ‘Besides, Berkeley did not fall for it.’

‘Even so, I doubt that Lady Berkeley found the joke prodigiously amusing,’ Martin said drily. ‘I hear she cried for several days.’

‘Well, that is her problem,’ Juliana said, her temper catching alight. ‘And what a bore you are proving to be, Mr Davencourt! What do you do for entertainment? Read the newspaper? Or is that too dangerously exciting for you?’

‘Sometimes I read The Times,’ Martin said, ‘or the parliamentary reports—’

‘Lud! I might have known!’

Martin ignored her. A footman opened the carriage door and let the steps down. Juliana accepted Martin’s hand down on to the cobbles with a certain distaste, removing herself from his grip as quickly as possible. The whole situation seemed absurd, but she could not immediately see what she could do about it. Martin Davencourt was disinclined to listen to her explanations and by now she was so angry with him for his accusations that she was unwilling to elucidate anyway. They were at an impasse.