“But we were lovers, for God’s sake!”
The anger in his voice made her close her eyes. “I couldn’t tell anyone. I had to protect them.” She opened her eyes and regarded him evenly. “I’m an actress, William. Do you know what that means to most people? Do you know the insults I have to bear, the insinuations, how men think I’m—” She pressed her lips into a straight line and tried to swallow a groundswell of tears.
William didn’t know what to say. The anger and hurt in her voice surprised him. “I thought you loved the attention.”
“No. I love acting, but I could do without being an actress.” Her rich voice was tinged with bitterness. “Don’t tell me my career didn’t give you pause when we first met, for I know you were very jealous of it. It’s one of the reasons I knew we had to part.”
He frowned. “One of the reasons?”
“There was so much against us. When we first met I wasn’t honest with anyone, including myself.”
She sighed and leaned back against the squab as if too tired to hold her head upright. “I was so naïve. I thought that if I loved you enough we could surmount any obstacle, but then you left and that gave me time to see life the way it really was. Reason returned and … I knew we had to part.”
“So it was never about my lack of funds.”
“No. It was about success and security. Colchester is well known in the ton. No one would dare make improper advances to me so long as he and I are together.”
William’s jaw tightened. “Who dared to be improper toward you?”
“It doesn’t matter. You were at sea, but Colchester was there. And I realized that had you been there, things would have been worse, not better.”
William’s chest ached, as if someone were sitting on it. “I should have been there.”
“No,” she returned sharply. “Colchester didn’t care for me the way you did. He dealt with the situation in a very calm, satisfactory manner, and I was left with my career intact and no one’s life was changed for the worse. Had you been there, all hell would have broken loose. I would have been left without a job, and you would have lost your commission and your future—”
“Hold. What does my commission have to do with—” Realization dawned. “Damn it, it was the prince, wasn’t it?”
She flushed. “It doesn’t matter who it was; that was almost eight years ago. And since I’ve been under Colchester’s protection, no one has dared treat me with anything other than respect.”
William hated to admit it, but there was some truth in what she said. He’d been a hot-blooded youth, quick to anger and quicker to charge. Life had taught him much since then, including prudence.
William looked at her now, noting how the sunlight caressed her black hair and lit her creamy skin, making it glow as if dusted with pearl. Her large eyes were outlined by a thick fringe of lashes, while her mouth—which was a bit wide for common beauty—bespoke a deep passion and sensuality. She was fascinating to watch; it was difficult to tear one’s eyes from her. It was no wonder the prince—and other men—were tempted.
“William, I must face this blackmailer and stop him. I must continue to protect my sisters from my lost reputation. I’ve saved enough for them to have dowries, and my oldest sister is set to be launched this coming season. I can’t sit by and allow someone to wreck the one thing I’ve worked so hard for.”
“So the cares of your family are upon your shoulders.”
She nodded, an oddly lost yet regal nod, like a child at a tea party trying to maintain a dignity she didn’t yet possess.
“Do you see your sisters often?”
A shadow passed over her face. “I see them when I can. They can’t acknowledge me in public, of course, so I visit when Father is not home.”
William thought of his own family, of how close they all were and how they always supported one another. This journey for Michael was no sacrifice, but a loving duty.
That was the call Marcail had answered, the call that had fallen on the deaf ears of her vain father. It would be a pleasure to tell that damned ass a thing or two about the importance of family over society.
“So now you know,” Marcail said in a defiant tone.
He realized she’d taken his silence as reprimand. “I wish you’d told me all of this years ago. Why didn’t you?”
“The secret of my life isn’t mine to tell.”
He leaned forward then, his dark blue eyes almost blazing. “I wasn’t just a passerby, Marcail. I wasn’t a-a stranger who admired you upon the stage. I loved you. For that alone, I deserved the truth.”
“It was my burden, not anyone else’s.”
“Damn it, Marcail. When you love someone, you share everything—the good, the bad, the awkward, the scary. It’s all part of who you are. If you don’t, then—” He shook his head. “I am realizing how unready we both were for our relationship.”
That hurt, but she forced herself to shrug. “We were very young. What did we know of life?”
His expression darkened and she had the impression that he disagreed with her, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he reached up and hit his fist on the ceiling. Almost immediately, the coach began to slow.
William gathered his hat and overcoat. “I am going to ride ahead and see if I can discover any information about the elusive Miss Challoner.”
“Of course.” She felt a deep flicker of regret. She’d told him the truth at last, and she could almost feel his palpable disappointment. “I believe I shall nap. I haven’t had the sleep I’m used to.”
The coach halted and William climbed out, pausing to pull a wooden case from the seat box. He flipped it open, revealing two pistols.
“What are those for?” Her voice wavered just a bit. She’d never considered that he might be in danger.
He checked to see if the pistols were loaded and, apparently satisfied, tucked them into his waistband and covered them with his overcoat. “Hopefully they’ll never be used, but I’d be a fool if I didn’t prepare for the worst.”
“You—you are taking Poston with you, aren’t you?”
William lifted a brow. “Afraid I’ll get lost?”
“No, I just thought he would be the one to go; you said he was an excellent tracker.”
“He is, but I want him here, to watch over the coach.” And you.
William hadn’t said the words, but she heard them, so she snapped back, “And I want him with you, to watch over your horse.”
William looked surprised, but then chuckled. “It’s a good thing he’s my groom, then.” He replaced the empty case and closed the seat box. “I’ll meet with you when we stop to water the horses.” Without a glance back, he closed the door.
She heard low talking and then the sound of a horse cantering past the coach. With a shudder, the coach rocked back into motion.
For the rest of the day, she saw him no more.
Letter from Michael Hurst to his brother Robert, stationed at the London Home Office.
Once again, I am astonished by the prices you acquired for the last few artifacts I sent. I shall be able to fund at least two more expeditions from the proceeds.
Yet I’ve been thinking less about monetary issues lately. Studying these ancient civilizations has made me more aware of my mortality. There comes a time in every man’s life when he looks back with regret at some point—a day, a decision, a hesitation to act—that allowed a precious opportunity to slip away. Regretting is an exercise in futility.
The past cannot be relived—but the future is the place for atonement.
CHAPTER 13
The coach traveled at breakneck speed, stopping late in the afternoon at a small village. William had left a note there for Poston at the one and only inn.
Marcail watched eagerly as Poston scanned the scrawled writing. “Well?” she asked when he tucked it in his pocket.
“The captain received word of Miss Challoner.”
“Thank goodness!”
“Aye, she stopped her
e only”—Poston pulled out his pocketwatch and glanced at it—“an hour ago.”
“Then he’s catching up!”
“I don’t know, miss. His horse was winded and the inn had no mounts left to trade.”
“Still, even a winded horse could catch up to a coach.”
“She’s no longer in a coach, miss.”
Marcail’s heart sank. “No?”
“She and her men are on horseback. They hired every horse from the stables here, which is why the captain couldn’t change his own.” Poston’s brow lowered. “They took every last one, three more than they had riders for.”
Just when she’d thought they might be making some progress. She rubbed her lower back, which ached from the jouncing coach. She’d been riding for so long that even though she was standing upon the firm earth, it felt as if she were still rocking inside the coach.
“Are there fresh coach horses in the stables? It sounds as if Miss Challoner only took the riding stock.”
“I’ll check, miss.”
“Good. Change ours if you can. Then ask the innkeeper if anyone nearby might have a good, fresh horse they would be willing to sell us.”
“Sell?”
“Yes.” She removed her reticule from her cloak pocket, and poured a stream of coins into his hand. “Find a horse and go after the captain. I won’t have him facing Miss Challoner and her men alone.”
Poston’s hand closed over the coins. “Yes, miss! I’ll see to it right away.”
Marcail nodded and entered the inn. No one came to greet her, so she searched through the rooms, finally finding the innkeeper’s wife frantically putting together several bowls of stew for her unexpected guests. Marcail had immediately assisted the harassed woman, who sent the inn’s lone maid to deliver the bowls of steaming stew to Marcail’s men who were waiting in the inn yard.
Since Marcail had traveled every summer to various genteel locations with a summer troupe, she knew how to avail herself of the best the inn had to offer. In addition to some cheese and bread for her own lunch, Marcail took an inventory of the larder and issued some rapid instructions to the innkeeper’s wife, placing a heavy silver coin into the woman’s eager palm.
Taking an apple with her, Marcail wandered into the empty common room, her mind racing after William. And to think we once believed we might catch up to the elusive Miss Challoner in one day. I warned him that she was elusive.
She paused by the window and saw Poston overseeing the changing of the team for a set of lively ones. Good. At least she wouldn’t be too far behind.
She bit into her apple and looked up at the sky. As William had predicted, heavy gray clouds hung overhead, a stiff chilly breeze waving the trees and shrubberies. The single lane was lined on each side with merry, thatched-roof houses separated by verdant greenery, patches of colorful flowers, and a bubbling brook … and yet she felt like the village idiot.
Though she’d fumed for an hour after William had left her alone in the coach, her sense of fairness wouldn’t allow her to ignore the harsh truth in his words.
He was right; their relationship had been doomed from the beginning—and not from his overprotectiveness, the excuse she’d told herself through the years. No, the fault was hers for not fully sharing herself.
At the time, she’d told herself that she couldn’t afford to trust her secret to anyone … but perhaps the truth was something different. Perhaps she’d been afraid to ask William to share her burdens because she’d believed they would drive him away.
So, faced with the belief that he would eventually leave, she’d found a convenient excuse to send him away on her terms. Perhaps she’d thought that small measure of control would make the separation easier.
Her heart heavy, she paced until a movement outside the window caught her eye. William was riding into the yard, his greatcoat flapping behind him, his horse limping noticeably. She spun on her heel and headed for the door.
“Miss?”
Marcail turned to find the innkeeper’s wife standing with a youth who held a large, obviously heavy basket. The woman curtsied. “The food ye ordered, miss. James here will carry it fer ye.”
“Thank you. Just in time, too.” Marcail nodded to the youth. “Follow me, please.” She emerged from the inn to find William standing beside the coach, an impatient look on his face. “What happened?” she asked.
“My horse drew up lame. I had to return to change her, which will cost me too much time.”
Marcail turned to the youth. “James, you may give the basket to Captain Hurst, if you please.”
The gawky lad handed the heavy basket to William.
“Thank you, James,” Marcail said.
The lad turned a fiery red. “Y-ye’re welcome, m-miss.” He hurried back into the inn.
William looked at the basket as if it held large rocks. “What in hell is this?”
“Food for the men.” She climbed into the waiting coach, arranging her skirts about her. “You may place the basket on the floor. It is very heavy and shouldn’t slide.”
“I’ve noticed how heavy it is,” he grumbled, but placed the basket on the floor and slid it to the other side of the coach. “There must be more than food in here.”
“I also purchased several bottles of ale in case we find ourselves without an inn.”
“That’s very resourceful,” he said grudgingly. “Ah!” He looked down the road. “Poston’s found us some new mounts—several, in fact.”
Marcail leaned forward to see one of the footmen riding toward them leading three prancing geldings.
“Where did he get the funds for—” William’s gaze narrowed on Marcail. “You gave it to him?”
“He told me that Miss Challoner was on horseback now, and I thought it would be best if he joined you. We knew from your note that she took all of the fresh horses with her, so I sent him to see what he could find.”
“I will pay you back,” William said stiffly.
“Nonsense. This is my chase, too. Just catch that blasted woman, please.”
“Very well. This inn is the last one until we reach the North Road.”
“How far is that?”
“Only three hours away, which is why we must press on. With a fresh mount and some luck, I’ll find her before this storm breaks and retrieve that damned artifact myself.”
“I wish I could come with you.”
“The weather is going to make this difficult enough. Miss Challoner will rue the decision to leave her coach behind.”
Marcail frowned. “I wonder why she did that?”
“She must know we’re close on her heels. She may be sending someone back to scout the road behind her.” William glanced up at the sky. “But she may have made a mistake with this one.” He undid his muffler and then rewrapped it more thickly around his neck. “We’ll meet you at the first large inn on the North Road, the Pelican.”
“William, be careful. Miss Challoner and her men might be armed, and you could get injured or—”
William stepped up into the coach, slipped a hand behind her head, and kissed her. Surprised, Marcail melted into him, welcoming his tongue when he slipped it between her lips. Instantly, she was afire with wanting him, restless with desire.
He broke the embrace as abruptly as he’d begun it, though he kept his hand cupped around the back of her head. “That is half of a kiss. I will claim the other half this evening at the Pelican, so don’t tarry.”
Her heart did an odd little dance. “I-I shall look forward to it.” Her voice was husky with passion.
“Do that.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and, with a wink and a heart-stopping crooked grin, he was gone.
Marcail leaned forward to watch out the window as he leapt upon a sturdy mare. He and Poston rode swiftly away, the gray sky above rumbling the protest that she felt in her heart.
William was a constant surprise. When he’d left the coach before he’d been irritated and angry, and with reason. But the ride seemed to hav
e done him a world of good; his mood was now much improved. Of course, some of that might be because they were closing in on their quarry, but Marcail dared to hope that some of William’s good mood was because of her.
It was a silly hope, but she couldn’t banish it, try as she might. She settled back against the seat, a silly smile on her lips, which still tingled from his kiss.
Soon the coach jerked into motion and they were once again under way.
They reached the Pelican many hours later. Immediately after William disappeared down the road, the heavens had opened, causing them to slow their travel to a crawl.
Marcail hated to think of William riding in such a downpour, but could do nothing about it. She could, however, help the footmen who were left in the weather. She knocked on the ceiling and asked her new groom—a very correct young man by the name of Charles Robbins—to order some of the footmen to ride inside the coach with her, but Robbins stoically refused.
She tried to argue, but he merely stood in the drenching rain and repeated, “No, miss. It wouldn’t be proper,” until she was ready to scream. Since arguing was doing her no good and was only making them go more slowly, she finally gave up. They splashed on, creeping through increasingly thick mud and slicker roads. Several times she felt the back of the coach slide, only to catch at the last possible moment.
They stopped only once, when one of the back wheels bogged down in a thick patch of muck. While the footmen dug the wheel free, Marcail pulled out the basket and made certain that everyone had a good afternoon meal and some ale.
They were soon on their way again and Marcail was left to her own devices in the lonely coach. It was a long and excruciating afternoon, with nothing to do but think about what William had said to her.
His comments about Colchester had made her angry, but now she wondered about her evaluation of the man she’d long considered her best friend. When she had a problem, she never thought of going to him. And it was true that she saw less and less of him as time passed, so they didn’t even have the ease of companionship to decorate the sham that was their relationship.