Page 14 of Wickedly Yours
A dull thud, the sound of cracking bones, came from the ground below.
Arabella shook uncontrollably, rooted to the spot, wiping furiously at the drops of blood that lay scattered on her skin. She put her hands to her ears to stop the awful screaming that filled the room.
The screams were coming from her.
9
“The fall broke his neck, though to be truthful, your blade hit his artery. He would have bled to death had he not fallen.” The constable scratched away at a pad and glanced at the crumpled form of Augustus Corbett.
“I had no choice.” Rowan shot a glance at Arabella who sat against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees. He’d decided the moment Corbett fell from the window he would take the blame for the man’s death. There was no reason for Arabella to ever know Corbett’s death was assured the moment she stabbed him. At least she’d stopped screaming.
“I’m sure you didn’t, Lord Malden.” The constable, MacLauren, had arrived shortly after Corbett fell from the window at the summons from the inn’s proprietor who’d heard the sounds of struggle.
“Mr. Corbett said his wife was mad and given to fits.” The innkeeper said in a concerned voice as he stepped carefully around the damaged table to the broken window. He looked down at Corbett and gave a gasp. “He never said his wife was violent.”
“She is not his wife.” Rowan snapped. “Nor his betrothed.”
MacLauren gave him a studied look. “Lord Malden, you’ve not explained your relationship to the lady, only that you came to her aid. Conveniently. Are you her brother? Cousin? Or something else? I don’t even have her name.”
The constable was suspicious. He couldn’t blame MacLauren. The inn as well as the small village several miles to the east from whence the constable came were situated on the way to Gretna Green. The constable had likely witnessed many such incidents, though probably none as dramatic. Rowan could easily be the jealous lover trying to wrest an heiress away before another man claimed her.
“Her name is Lady Arabella Tremaine, sister of the Duke of Dunbar.” His words laced with a sharp patrician accent left no doubt as to Rowan’s station should MacLauren have any doubts. “She was kidnapped and taken from the Dunbar coach as it traveled to London. I am here at the behest of her brother whom I am related to by marriage. You can verify the truth with His Grace if you wish, though I would ask for your discretion regarding the events that have transpired out of respect for the lady’s reputation.”
The innkeeper’s eyes grew as large as saucers. “She’s the Devil of Dunbar’s sister? Oh, saints alive.”
“Ah.” MacLauren stroked his mustache as he studied Rowan. “I believe I’ll send word to His Grace. And I’ll need a sworn statement from you, milord.”
“Of course.” Rowan gave the constable the address of the Dunbar home as well as that of his own lodgings.
MacLauren raised a brow. “You said he had an accomplice, but I can find no sign of the man you described. The coach looks to be abandoned except for a small valise and a trunk, though one of the horses is missing. He’s long gone, whoever he is, though I will send word to my counterparts in the area.”
Rowan spared a glance at Arabella, who sat huddled into a small ball in the far corner of the room. The heavy mass of her hair streamed down her shoulders in disarray, hiding her features from view. He’d seen only a blur of skirts as Arabella leapt in front of him, the silver of the knife flashing in her hand, not an ounce of fear on her face. He was wise not to tell MacLauren the truth. Though Rowan had asked for discretion, the inn and taproom had been crowded. The proprietor of this fine establishment didn’t look especially trustworthy, but the man seemed fearful of the Duke of Dunbar. Perhaps that fear, along with several gold coins would buy his silence.
Rowan had promised Lady Cupps-Foster discretion and Arabellahadsaved his life, though, he considered ruefully, it could be argued his life wouldn’t have been in danger had he not been sent to rescue her in the first place. She’d been brave and defiant right up until Corbett fell from the window. A horrible, low keening sound came from her as he fell and Rowan had the impression she wasn’t seeing Corbett, but something else.
He tried and failed to ignore the red chemise flashing beneath the remains of Arabella’s staid, mud-colored traveling dress. Given the situation, the color of her underthings, along with the sensations they aroused, should have been the last thing on his mind.
MacLauren glanced at Arabella and nodded. “I’ll make arrangements for the body. I’ll be as discreet as possible.”
“Both myself and His Grace are most appreciative. If there’s nothing else, I need to return Lady Arabella to London as soon as possible.”
“Of course, Lord Malden.” MacLauren dipped his hat, shooting Arabella another glance before leaving the room.
“While I make arrangements for our journey, do you have a place Lady Arabella can rest and change her clothing?” Rowan addressed the inn keeper. “I’ll also handle all the damages to the room, where the accident occurred.”
“Of course, my lord. I’ll have my own wife attend her in our private quarters.” He bustled off to find his wife. Rowan heard him calling for water to be heated.
Assured the man was gone, Rowan walked to Arabella. Kneeling down, he took her hand, flinching slightly at the coldness of her fingers. “Arabella, do you have a change of clothes? A trunk?”
“I—" Her voice was low and scratchy. “I have clothes.” She cleared her throat. “His—I meanCorbett’scoach should have my things.” She pulled her hands away and pushed up from the wall, declining his help. Her eyes were dark, fathomless pools, so brown they appeared black. “I’m fine, Lord Malden.Perfectlyfine.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe some expression of gratitude? An acknowledgement of what they’d just been through together or some indication she needed comfort?
Red chemise or not, Arabella wasstillArabella.
10
“Are you ready to leave? The coach is just outside.”
