Lady Lyte's Little Secret (6 page)

At that moment, Thorn would have bartered everything he owned for them to be back in Felicity’s bedchamber, rather than on the open road in a cold carriage with a dazed highwayman beginning to stir at their feet.

“M-Mister Greenwood?” a tremulous young voice inquired from beyond the open carriage door. “Is that you, sir? What happened?”

“Has Lady Lyte come to any harm, sir?” asked a second, deeper voice.

“Apart from a nasty shock, I believe she’s well enough.” Chilling thoughts of what might have befallen Felicity sharpened Thorn’s tone. “No thanks to the pair of you.”

“He did have a gun, sir,” the young footman protested.

The driver offered no excuse, but his voice sounded thoroughly chastened. “Is there aught we can do, now, Mr. Greenwood?”

The highwayman groaned and tried to sit up. Thorn applied some weight to his right foot, which rested
between the fellow’s shoulder blades, forcing him back down.

To the driver and footmen who hovered outside, Thorn ordered, “Find a bit of rope to truss this black-guard up.”

“Very good, Mr. Greenwood, sir.”

“Tie him to his horse if you can find it, or to mine if you can’t,” Thorn added. “Then tether it to the carriage. We can turn this fellow over to the proper authorities at the first town we reach. For now, I believe we’d better continue on our way as quickly as possible, in case others of his ilk might be lurking about.”

Perhaps goaded by that warning, Lady Lyte’s driver and footman wasted no time finding some material with which to bind the highwayman, who sounded too befuddled to put up much resistance.

By the time the carriage had recommenced its journey northward, Felicity’s weeping had quieted to a volley of sniffles. Still, she made no effort to distance herself from Thorn. Greedily, he drank in the touch and scent of her, all too conscious of how much he had missed her in the short time they’d been apart.

Might the trouble he’d taken to ride to her rescue have changed her mind about terminating their liaison prematurely? he wondered as he cradled Felicity in his arms.

Hard as Thorn tried not to be enticed by that will-o’-the-wisp of false hope, he failed.

She ought to push Thorn away, order him out of the carriage or, at the very least, rail at him for frightening her half to death. But as her carriage sped on
toward Newport, Felicity found herself unable to take any of the actions she ought.

There would be many long years ahead for her to manage without the warm, steadfast comfort of Thorn Greenwood’s embrace. For the present, she needed it more desperately than she had needed anything in a great while. And Lady Felicity Lyte was not accustomed to denying herself anything she needed.

She could not remember ever being so badly frightened. Her heart kept up its rapid flutter in her bosom, and despite a good warm wrap, she began to tremble.

“There, there.” Thorn stroked her arm.

Was it her imagination, or did he press a fleeting kiss on the top of her head?

“Are you all right, Felicity? Or did I speak too soon when I told your servants you were unharmed?” The tender concern that radiated from Thorn’s tone and touch soaked into her heart like warm ointment.

Pride would not allow her to accept comfort for the most grievous wounds life had inflicted upon her. No matter how she might crave it.

“You spoke aright, I suffered nothing worse than a nasty shock.” She sniffled. “Have you a handkerchief I can ruin?”

She would have hated anyone else who’d witnessed her break down into hysterical tears. Perhaps she would hate Thorn for it in the cool light of day when she could see how the betrayal of weakness had diminished her in his eyes. But for this sweet, dark moment she would allow herself the dangerous luxury of relying on a man.

“A handkerchief?” Thorn shifted her a little so he could pry his coat open and rummage in the pocket of his waistcoat. “I believe I have.”

He pressed the folded square of linen into her hand. “There. Do your worst. That’s what laundry’s for.”

“Thank you,” Felicity managed to squeak. The gentle fumbling brush of Thorn’s hands had set her flesh atingle.

She wiped the last residue of moisture from her eyes, thankful that by the time Thorn could see her clearly, the worst ravages of her silly tears would have faded.

If that was vanity, well, so be it. She could not abide having an attractive man see her at less than her best.

As she blew her nose, masked by the forgiving darkness, a thought struck her. “Are
you
all right, Thorn? After bringing down that awful man…then the way I went at you. I am so sorry. I can’t imagine what got into me.”

“You were only doing your best to defend yourself.” Thorn chuckled. “And making an admirable job of it, too. I don’t believe I took any lasting damage, though.”

A few blows from her wouldn’t have done him any harm, of course. But if that odious highwayman had managed to get off a shot with his pistol…Felicity would never have forgiven herself if Thorn had been injured on her account.

“Well?” she prompted him, bracing herself for the reprimand she probably deserved. Thorn Greenwood seemed like a man who could deliver a stern scolding when one was called for.

“Well…what?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

“The dressing-down you’ve been rehearsing in your mind ever since you left Bath.” Felicity blew her nose again. “Where is it?”

“Oh…that.” Thorn gave a wry chuckle which succumbed
to a deep, weary yawn. “It’ll keep until morning. For now, I believe we’d both be better served by an hour’s sleep if we can get it.”

The poor fellow, he must be perfectly exhausted after spending the evening in search of his sister, then the last several hours in pursuit of her.

“You talk sound sense, as always, Mr. Greenwood.” Felicity made a halfhearted attempt to rise from Thorn’s lap. “No doubt you would rest more comfortably without the burden of a blubbering woman to squash you.”

She would likely benefit from putting some distance between them, too. It was difficult enough to keep regrets at bay without the sensation of his arms around her to remind Felicity what she would soon be missing.

“You’re no burden.” With gentle insistence, Thorn drew her back into the protective circle of his arms. “Besides, I’m apt to sleep more soundly for the reminder that you are out of danger.”

“In that case…” Felicity settled back into Thorn’s embrace. “I’m content to remain where I am.”

More than content, in fact. Though she did not dare tell him so.

“Thorn?”

“Yes?” He sounded halfway to sleep already.

She shouldn’t pester him with questions, Felicity chided herself, but she so liked the sound of his voice. “Wherever did you get a horse to come after me?”

“From St. Just.” Thorn patted his pocket. “I’ve got blunt, too. Won it in a card game.”

If Thorn had confessed to stealing the money, Felicity could not have been more surprised. “I thought you never gambled.”

“Never did till tonight.” His words had the slurred, dreamy quality Felicity had heard so often in the past weeks when he’d held her close after their lovemaking. “Don’t know the devil about cards. It may have helped that I was the only sober fellow at the table.”

“Perhaps a little beginner’s luck?” Knowing full well she shouldn’t do it, Felicity could not stop herself reaching up to brush her knuckles against Thorn’s side whiskers.

“Perhaps.” He whispered the word as if it was the sweetest of endearments.

Then, before Felicity could withdraw her hand, he tilted his head to catch her fingers between his shoulder and his cheek, nuzzling them in a chaste gesture of affection that brought a lump to her throat.

She forced her question out past the obstruction. “How could you possibly stake yourself in the sort of bankrupting card game Weston St. Just favors?”

Thorn’s head snapped up again, flinching from her touch in a way he had not flinched from her earlier attack. “I’m not a complete pauper, you know.”

His fortune—or rather his lack of it. Even as she regretted her question, Felicity could not stifle a twinge of annoyance. How many years had she tread with bated breath around the subject of her late husband’s want of prosperity?

At least Thorn Greenwood was making an effort to repair his family’s fortune. And by a more principled means than simply marrying the first available heiress.

“I didn’t say you were a pauper. Most men don’t carry a great deal of ready money around in the middle of the night, that’s all.”

Thorn did not answer at once. Had he fallen asleep, Felicity wondered, or was he too offended to reply?

“I have an old watch and a signet ring,” he said at last, as if confessing to a crime. “St. Just managed to convince the other players they were worth something.”

His admission stung Felicity in a vulnerable spot, just as her question about his gambling stakes must have done to Thorn. She knew very well the watch and ring to which he’d alluded. What price they might fetch from a jeweller, she could not guess. Yet they were priceless to Thorn—a reminder that he belonged to an old family of good breeding.

Despite her fortune and the title for which she’d paid so dear a price, Felicity knew many people still scorned her as an upstart tradesman’s daughter. Suitable only as a mistress for a respectable gentleman like Thorn Greenwood, but never a wife.

Such a union would cause no end of talk. And respectable gentlemen abhorred being a topic of gossip among tattles like Weston St. Just.

Thorn’s arms relaxed their grip on Felicity, and his breath warmed her hair in slow, rhythmic gusts. As she steeled herself to put a great deal more distance between them on the morrow, a further significance of his gambling stakes struck her.

He had gone to a great deal of trouble on her account. First, gambling his most valued possessions, then riding through the night to overtake her carriage. Finally, risking his life to rescue her from danger. Thorn Greenwood was not a man given to pretty speeches, but his actions spoke eloquently of his feelings for her.

Percy Lyte had never valued her as anything more than a source of hard cash and heirs. And when she’d proven deficient in the latter capacity, her husband’s
thinly veiled contempt had eroded something vital within her. Something that Thorn’s honest, unconditional affection promised to nourish.

He had put aside his natural prudence to take a gamble for her sake, Felicity mused as the first feeble glimmer of daybreak gilded his strong, agreeable features. She, on the other hand, would need to curb her own daring impulses, lest they induce her to take a reckless gamble on Thorn Greenwood.

And risk losing far more than she could afford.

Thorn woke with such a violent start he might have dumped Felicity onto the floor of the carriage, if her arms had not been clasped so firmly around his neck.

The jolt did succeed in rousing her from her own sleep, though.

“What’s the matter, my dear?” she asked. “Did you dream about that awful highwayman?”

“Ah…something like that.” Thorn struggled to curb the sensation of panic that galloped within his chest.

He could scarcely recall his dream, now, though it had seemed so real and urgent only a moment ago.

He’d been playing some curious game of cards for stakes that had grown larger and larger. Until he could no longer fold his hand without being ruined. Fear and reckless confidence had warred within him when he’d finally lain down his promising handful of hearts, only to be soundly trumped by strange cards that looked like miniature banknotes.

As the winner raked in the pot, Thorn had realized that he’d risked both his honor and his heart. And lost.

“Where do you reckon we are now?” He concentrated
on slowing his breath as he disengaged himself from Felicity.

Something about the unsparing light of day made it impossible for him to continue holding her in his arms, even within the privacy of her carriage. No matter how much he wanted to.

Felicity made an unsuccessful effort to smother a yawn as she peered out the window. She seemed no more anxious than Thorn to continue their awkward embrace. Perhaps he had only imagined the wistful warmth in her voice last night and that delicious brush of her fingers against his side whiskers.

“We’re coming to a small bridge,” she said. “I believe Newport lies just the other side of it, and I have good reason to hope we may catch up with our runaways there.”

As she told Thorn about her custom of stopping in that village when coming and going from Bath, Felicity shifted onto the seat opposite him. “Do you know the hour?”

He fished the venerable timepiece from his watch pocket and consulted it.

“After seven.” Thorn shook his head. “Your poor driver and footmen will be done in, to say nothing of the horses.”

“I hope we catch Oliver and your sister before they’ve had a chance to stir.” Felicity stared out the window, ignoring Thorn’s gaze. Or, perhaps, avoiding it. “Then we can all take a day’s rest before returning to Bath at our leisure.”

Thorn nodded and made vague noises of agreement, though with scant conviction.

Of course, he wanted to recover his scapegrace little sister before she mangled her reputation beyond repair.
But that would mean parting from Felicity again. This time, with no chance of reprieve.

In spite of his disquieting dream, Thorn had trouble working up the least enthusiasm for that.

Chapter Five

S
ix hours after it had left Bath, Lady Lyte’s carriage rolled to a halt in front of a prosperous-looking inn. It stopped beneath a sign emblazoned with some royal coat of arms from years long past.

Felicity made herself look Thorn Greenwood in the face as she strove to keep her tone casual. “Surely Oliver and your sister won’t have gotten on the road yet.”

She was thoroughly ashamed of the way she’d lost her nerve last night. Screaming like a lunatic when Thorn and the highwayman had landed in the carriage, then pummeling her poor rescuer within an inch of his life. As if those weren’t bad enough, she’d further humiliated herself by bursting into tears, and clinging to Thorn like a frightened child.