Page 30 of How to Court a Rake
Amesbury tossed Caine a smug look over the women’s heads.See, I win.
‘Mary, is that what you want?’ Caine broke in, ignoring Amesbury’s look. ‘Your mother is right; a quiet wedding will make tonight’s contretemps go away.’ But it would not erase what her father had done, nor the potential scandal to come if Caine found the link to the sabotage. Did Mary think she had a choice? Did she believe there was an option? He gave her the only option he could.
‘If you don’t want this, Mary, I will take you out of this room tonight and keep you safe.’ At least he hoped he could keep her safe. That last bit was bold given that he’d not been able to keep Stepan safe. Perhaps his offer of safety wasn’t worth what it used to be. Still, he had to try. This was her moment, her choice, and it would decide so much more for her than she knew, yet she had to decide and, Caine reminded himself, he had to abide by that decision. If she chose to stay, he would have to abandon her to her fate, something that would be more difficult to do now than it would have been a few weeks ago. A most disturbing thought indeed.
Chapter Sixteen
The choice was hers and it could very well decide the trajectory of her life—a most disturbing thought, given that the choice must be made on the fly. Mary sat up a bit straighter and edged away from her mother’s dubious comfort, aware of Caine’s presence behind her, the heat of him, the strength of him. He’d come for her, he’dfoughtfor her—the sound of his roar, the sight of his muscles unleashed in her aid still played through her mind. No one else had come to her defence, not even her own father.
The result of Caine’s efforts was this moment laid before her. Her father had bartered her to another. Caine offered to take her away from honouring an agreement she’d not consented to. Take her away to where? To what? She didn’t know. That was the chance. Caine would set her free. Where she went from there was anyone’s guess and she could not delay in her answer.
Her father was rising. ‘You cannot take her from this house.’
She felt Caine bristle, could imagine the thunder in his face, the storm in his dark eyes, his anger a palpable thing. ‘Iam not forcing her to do anything. I am giving her a choice. You cannot say the same. If she leaves, it will be of her own free will.’ It was the unspoken argument in his words that decided her. By extension, if she stayed that would be by her own free will as well. It would be as good as consenting to the match with Amesbury. Although it took all of her courage, Mary stood. ‘I will go with you. There is nothing for me here.’
Shouting broke out: her father incensed, Amesbury spewing furious epithets, her mother gasping. She was only conscious of Caine’s hand closing around hers, tugging her after him as he strode to the door. ‘I’d hurry if I were you,’ he growled. ‘I’d rather not have to shoot anyone while we’re in the house.’ There was more shouting in the hallway, her father calling out to servants. Dear heavens, would he really bar the way?
‘Take the back hall then, it lets out into the garden and there’s a gate to the street,’ Mary instructed, lifting her skirts to run. A deeper fear came to her for the first time. If she were caught now, she’d be locked in her room and let out only for a wedding.
Caine scuffled with a footman at the door and then they were free, Caine pushing her ahead of him into the garden as they sprinted for the gate. They were nearly there when the shot rang out, passing so close to Mary that her hair lifted. She screamed in shock and looked back to see Amesbury at the door. The man had fired at them—at Caine or at her? Thank God he’d missed in the dark.
‘Go, Mary! The latch!’ Caine yelled, forcing her to refocus. She fumbled with the gate and they were through, running in the night, Caine in the lead now, her hand tight in his as they headed straight for his coach. ‘Hurry, take the road to Sandmore,’ Caine commanded the coachman as he bundled her inside and climbed in behind her, the coach lurching into instant motion without hesitation as if escaping from social events was a usual part of the coachman’s evening.
‘Are you hurt, Mary? The bullet didn’t graze you?’ The breathlessness in Caine’s voice was not from exertion. His hands were at her temples, searching her face, her hair in the dark, feeling for blood, she realised.
‘I’m fine, it just lifted a few hairs as it passed.’ She gave a shaky laugh. It must have passed close indeed if Caine was concerned. ‘He shot at me.’ She began to tremble as the words gave life to the final moments of the brief chase. ‘The man my father wants me to marry shot at me.’
Caine’s hands framed her face, his own face close to hers so that she could see the stern set of his features, the dark anger of his eyes. ‘Set it aside, Mary, as best you can for now,’ he instructed in earnest. ‘It will only paralyse you, overwhelm you if you let it, and you must absolutely not let it. You must be alert and brave for me, for yourself. Can you do that for me?’
She swallowed hard and gathered herself. ‘Yes.’ He was absolutely right. The horrors and betrayals of tonight were staggering if she dwelt on them. There would be a time for that, but this was not it.
‘That’s my girl.’ Caine smiled his approval and she felt an irrational surge of pride that she’d pleased him.
‘Where are we going?’ Mary asked.
‘To my grandfather’s. We should reach Sandmore by morning.’
‘Do you think they’ll follow?’ Mary asked as Mayfair fell behind them. She didn’t let herself think what would happen to Caine if they were caught on the open road in the dark. With no witnesses, Amesbury might dare anything.
Caine gave a non-committal shrug. ‘Hard to say. They’ll lose a lot of time harnessing a coach and they’re not sure where we’re headed.’ He reached beneath the seat and pulled out a wooden box. ‘If they do, however, we’ll be prepared.’ He lifted the lid to reveal a pair of pistols. ‘Can you shoot?’
Mary met his gaze over the box, solemn and grim. ‘I can if it’s not too far.’ And she would if it meant keeping this man safe from the likes of Amesbury. Tonight, Caine had stood up for her. He had been her champion. If needed, she’d return the favour and be his. But she hoped it wouldn’t come to that, at least not until she had a bow and arrow in hand and could do it justice.
Caine reached beneath the seat again and pulled out a blanket and flask. ‘The blanket is for later, once we’re certain we’re not being followed. The flask is for now.’ He passed it to her. ‘It’s whisky. Sip it. It will burn going down, but it will settle your nerves and I dare say they need it after the night you’ve had.’
Mary took a brave swallow, thankful for the instruction. Itdidburn. It was definitely not port. But it helped. As the warmth spread through her, she felt her fear ease, replaced by something more powerful, more exhilarating. She’d taken control of her future, whatever it might be. In the morning, that fact might scare her witless, but for now, in the dark of the carriage with Caine beside her, she’d revel in it and let the realisation make her strong. No matter what the morning held, she was going to need all her strength.
Morning light streamed through the carriage windows, limning the curve of Mary’s jaw, turning the cream of her skin to a delicate pearl as she slept, wrapped in the blanket from beneath the seat, her breathing soft, slow and even. Somewhere in the darkness, she’d found peace while he kept watch throughout the long drive.
It was difficult to believe someone in possession of such elegance, such delicacy, was also in possession of such iron and steel. She’d found the strength of character to stand up for herself, to fight for what she wanted. The only other woman he knew in possession of such tenacity was his sister, Guinevere, whom he admired greatly and who had married the Duke of Creighton, one of Mary’s intended suitors.
Mary had nearly died for that tenacity tonight. While Caine was fairly certain Amesbury’s bullet had been meant for him, his aim had put that bullet in Mary’s way instead. Amesbury’s actions tonight certainly did nothing to dispel Caine’s instincts that the danger of Amesbury was more than that of an unwanted suitor. He’d shown himself to be not only a violent man, but also a man who used that violence often enough that it had become a choice of first resort; a man who defended his claims and got his way through violence was a dangerous man indeed.
He would not soon forget the sight of Mary at Amesbury’s mercy tonight despite her best efforts. Nor would he soon forget the feeling that sight had engendered in him; primal anger had taken root deep within him. Not because Amesbury was physically assaulting a woman, although Caine would have come to any woman’s aid in a similar situation, but because it was Mary.
Those feelings ran beyond a sense of responsibility and general protection towards her. Perhaps it was because of the recency of the intimacy they’d shared that afternoon, and perhaps it was something more, but those feelings were real. There was a logical explanation for it, of course. In the past few weeks, they’d become friends.
Friends who climaxed in carriages against your hand?
