Page 7 of The Banished Bride
“Hell and damnation,” growled Alex through clenched teeth.” But I don’t want to sell out.” Nor did he wish to be the earl, but it appeared he had as little choice in that matter as in his imminent departure from the army.
He stared at the spidery writing covering the travel stained paper and muttered a few other choice obscenities under his breath. Never had he given a thought to the possibility of acceding to the title. Oh, his father’s death some years ago from a bad liver had come as no surprise as the old reprobate had downed enough sauce in his day to pickle an entire regiment. Even when Harry, having inherited his father’s taste for spirits, gave up the ghost in some foolish prank involving the racing of curricles along the cliffs of Dover, the succession had never seemed in doubt. Charles, his middle brother, had turned out to be a man of great sense, if not imagination, well content to spend the great majority of his time running the Woodbridge estates and attending to the myriad other responsibilities that came with the title. He had done a good job of it, too, restoring the lands to their former profitability and refilling the family coffers.
His tanned fingers laced through his dusty locks. However, it was a damn shame that Charles had not seen to the most basic of those obligations—namely taking a wife and producing an heir. In his letters, he had made vague mention of perhaps spending the next Season in Town in order to choose a bride, but in truth, Alex had come to the conclusion that the mere thought of a marriage ceremony had left his brother quaking in his boots.
The general eyed him with some sympathy. “It is not always easy for us men of action to contemplate a more placid existence. But I dare say, you are a resourceful fellow, Woodbridge. You’ll adjust.”
Alex’s mouth twisted downward in an expression that showed how little credence he gave to such assurances. “Sir, I wish to object?—”
“Won’t hear of it, Major Lord Woodbridge, and that’s an order. You are to leave at dawn for Lisbon.”
The edge in new earl’s voice was as sharp as the jut of his jaw. “Yes, sir.” He rose stiffly, hands clenched by his sides. “Then I had better go and pack my things. Am I dismissed, sir?”
A weary sound, more snort than sigh, escaped from the general’s lips as he motioned for his subordinate to be seated. “Come, finish your brandy, Woodbridge. You have plenty of time for that.” His hand rubbed at his lined brow. “Can’t for the life of me understand why it is you young sprigs prefer risking life and limb on the battlefield to waltzing at Almack’s.”
Alex downed his brandy in one gulp. “The lemonade at Almack’s is notoriously weak. And the tongues of the Town gossips can flay the skin off a man’s back as surely as any saber,” he retorted, drawing a slight smile from his commanding officer. “Besides, I am hardly a young sprig anymore. I am two and thirty.”
“Then you are old enough to know better. It’s time you stopped seeking danger in every corner of the globe and returned home.”
“There has never been anything worth returning to,” he growled.
“Well, there is now. My advice to you is to find a female you can have a regard for and settle down to the pleasures of married life. Take it from me, it’s not half so bad as you fear. A compatible mate can become a true comrade in arms, one whose loyalty and love you will come to value above all things.”
The new earl’s face went rigid, and despite his tanned complexion, his color turned a shade paler.
“But enough philosophizing.” The general’s gnarled fingers drummed a light tattoo on the rough wood. He seemed to be deliberating on something, but after a long pause, he finally went on. “However, if you are truly so reluctant to give up the life of a soldier, there is one last mission you might undertake for your country before returning to London.”
Alex’s expression became a tad less bleak. “Sir?”
“A French courier was recently captured on a small bark that had set sail from Ayr, on the west coast of Scotland. He was carrying certain documents that lead us to believe vital information is making its way from Whitehall north across the border, where it is passed on to the enemy. A rather thorough interrogation of the man revealed little—except that the agent he dealt with is a female.” He cleared his throat. “Given your considerable talent at ferreting out information, as well as your, er, no less considerable skills with the opposite sex, both Whitehall and I think you are the perfect man for the job. It would be of great service to us. That is, if you are willing.”
The words were scarcely out of the general’s mouth when Alex blurted out, “Of course I am willing, sir! In fact, I should be delighted.”
A dry chuckle answered such enthusiasm. “Yes, I rather thought you might. Well, then, a fast mail packet is waiting in Lisbon harbor.” He paused to scribble an official order, then handed it over to Alex. “Give that to the sloop’s captain. The boat will drop dispatches at Penzance, then continue on to Ayr and set you ashore. One of our local agents will meet you with any further information he might uncover. So of now, the only other bit of information our informant could tell us was that the next exchange is set for three weeks from Saturday, in the village of Girvan, just down the coast Ayr.”
“Thank you, sir.” If he could not change the inevitable, he thought with a last little grimace, he could at least put it off for a bit. Nearly overturning his chair in his haste to rise, Alex snapped a hurried salute. “It does not sound like it should prove much of a problem.”
“Take care, Woodbridge,” murmured the general. “Do not underestimate the peril you are walking into, just because you are stepping back on sovereign soil. Or because your opponent is a female. They can sometimes prove to be the most dangerous and cunning of all.” He took a deep breath. “They can make a man react with emotion rather than reason.”
The new earl’s lip curled in some disdain. “Believe me, sir. I long since been immune to the wiles or charms of any woman. I may bed them, but other than that, I have little use for the opposite sex. On the whole, they are greedy, grasping, manipulative harpies who think only of increasing their purse or their prestige through latching on to a gentleman. You have little reason to fear that my emotions—or my heart—will fall victim to a sultry smile or coy gaze.”
Three
Aurora tucked an errant curl back up under her bonnet and surveyed the dimly lit public room. At this hour it was not the smoke but rather the grime that prevented more than a few wan rays of sunlight from penetrating the paned glass. Suppressing a grimace, she took another sip of her tea. At least most of the male travelers who had been present during evening meal were far too cupshot to be up so early.
If Robbie had not been so befuddled by illness, she reminded herself, the redoubtable former governess would likely have remembered the one key fact that both of them had overlooked in the haste to be off. To whit, while Mary had served as a proper companion on the journey north, once she was safely delivered to the cottage of her aunt, Aurora had been left to negotiate the trip home by herself.
She hadn’t quite realized how tedious the ramifications could be, especially as her clothing was hardly of the first crack and her carriage a bit shabby. The balding merchant from Dundee had been particularly hard to convince of the fact that his garlic-enhanced invitations to share sleeping arrangements were of no interest. It had taken a slight nudge on the narrow stairs to showhim the error of his thinking. No doubt he would be nursing a sore rump as well as a splitting headache when he woke up.
Men, she fumed, her teaspoon stirring up the last of her lukewarm brew with a tad more force than necessary. They were far more trouble than they were worth, that was for sure. Pushing aside the chipped plate of stale toast and watery marmalade, she stood up and went to pay for the meager repast, certain that the bill would prove to be as much of an outrage as the charge for a night spent between dingy sheets that couched a goodly number of live bodies other than her own.
Her carriage was waiting at the far end of the muddy yard, the driver looking none to happy at being rousted from the straw at first light. His mood turned even more sour as a few drops of rain fell from the leaden skies. As no one made any sign of coming to her assistance, Aurora reached up and tugged the door open.
How odd, she thought, pausing for a fraction to peer into the inky darkness. She could have sworn she had left the curtains tied back. Then, with a shrug, she placed her foot on the iron step and started to climb in. Her ascent was suddenly made all the more swift by strong fingers that wrapped around her wrist and jerked her inside. The door slammed shut and she found herself in a man’s lap, a hand over her mouth and a blade of cold steel pressed up against her neck.
“Not a sound,sweeting, or I shall be forced to cut your throat.” The knife pressed a bit harder, as if to emphasize the command. “And a shame it would be, for it looks to be a very pretty throat.” It did indeed, added Alex to himself. Too bad it was the throat of a traitor.
The woman leaned unresisting against his broad shoulder, making no attempt to cry out or to struggle.
