The Baron's Saving Grace Read online

  She grinned. “I had hoped so.” She sobered. “What now?”

  George thought quickly. A well-deserved uppercut to the jaw administered with pleasure by himself would render Corbett unconscious. A couple of days confined to the landlord’s cellar should suffice for him to be able escort Grace to meet her sister at Gretna unaccosted. He knew the innkeeper well enough to be confident Douglas would oblige, but before he could recommend this course of action to his guest, a noisy kerfuffle sounded outside in the hallway—a recognisably unwelcome voice shouting something about a missing person, for which heads would roll. His door shook and rattled under the stress of several hard thumps.

  “Hoy, you in there, open up.” Corbett’s voice was full of fury. “My ward has been seen in your company. I demand to search your room.”

  “Sir, you cannot… I implore you…” That was the landlord. “You will disturb my other patrons.”

  The hammering increased in noise and intensity. The door wasn’t locked—a fact George guessed would not remain long undiscovered, given the ferocity of the blows. Grace cursed softly and jumped to her feet. “Damn. This not the moment for him to discover I’m not Jane. It’s too soon.”

  She reached for her bonnet. George expected her to put it on but instead she thrust it toward him and hissed, “When he forces his way in here, it’ll be simpler all round if he finds you alone. Hide this under the bed and stow what remains of my parasol with it.” Then she darted to the window and threw up the sash.

  “W-what? Wait. You can’t.” George stuttered as he realised her intention.

  Grace raised her eyes heavenward to the starlit night sky and huffed. “Typical man. Just watch me.” With a flash of a well-turned ankle, she climbed over the ledge and onto the overhanging branch of the tree outside it. Then, as nimbly as any young lad, she vanished into the depths of its dense summer foliage, out of sight.

  George moved quickly, closing the window and hiding her bonnet and parasol as requested. The half-full glasses he secreted behind the taller bottles on the side table before striding to the door and opening it at the next thump.

  Corbett fell in through the aperture and lost his footing as his impetus propelled him forward.

  “To what do I owe this non-pleasure?” George enquired as Corbett, thanks to one end of his undone cravat having settled over his eye, peered myopically up at him from the floor. “I hope you have a good explanation.”

  “He said the last time he’d seen my ward she was talking to you.” Corbett spat the words out. “Show me.”

  Standing in the doorway behind Corbett, the landlord appeared beside himself with worry. “I’m sorry, my lord. He didn’t ask his question all open like that, and I spoke without thinking.”

  George gave Douglas a reassuring smile, and the man visibly relaxed, so he returned his attention to Corbett, who was struggling to his feet.

  George fixed him with a pointed stare. “Your ward, you say? Are you sure? Do enlighten me as to the circumstances, because I’m having difficulty thinking of a single person who would be addlepated enough to saddle a ward with you.”

  Corbett reddened and scowled. “I’m not sure I appreciate your insinuations.” He straightened his jacket to restore his appearance.

  George directed his best ‘who on earth do you think you are expression’ towards the man, then stepped closer, pulled back his arm and planted a facer directly onto Corbett’s jaw. “No. I don’t suppose you do. No more than I appreciate your filthy lies, you blackguard.”

  Corbett’s eyes rolled back in his head as he crumpled to the floor again this time dazed and non-vocal.

  “Oh, a good hit, my lord,” Douglas exclaimed admiringly. “I sensed he was a wrong ‘un from the minute he arrived at the inn. Is the lady safe?”

  George toed Corbett’s recumbent form to ensure he was suitably comatose. “Yes, although you’ll forgive me if I don’t confide her story. It’ll go easier for you if you don’t know.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Douglas nodded. “But if I can be of any further assistance, just ask.”

  George smiled. “Indeed, you can. The lady concerned requires escorting to join her newly married sister and this rogue needs to be kept somewhere secure to cool his heels for a couple of days while I do so. You have my word I have no unacceptable intentions. Not like this blackguard.”

  Douglas chuckled. “I have the very place. My root cellar has only way one in, no windows and, better still, is situated a suitable distance from the house so no-one will hear him if he kicks up a fuss.”

  George agreed. “Very good. At least he won’t starve. Add a bucket of water to quench his thirst, and perhaps another for him to relieve himself?”

  “Indeed, I will, and I’ll also pour a bottle of brandy over him…” Douglas grinned. “Then when I go in search of some turnips two days hence, I’ll swear the last time I saw him he was deep in his cups. Say he must have staggered off and entered the root cellar himself. Anyone seeing or smelling the state of him by the time he emerges will have no trouble swallowing my tale.”

  George squeezed Douglas’ shoulder. “Good man. You take his top half. I’ll take his feet. Let’s get him safely stowed in the cellar before he comes round.”

  He reopened the window, half turned to Douglas and said loud enough for Grace to hear, wherever she had hidden, “That’s him taken care of. Let’s get going.” He and Douglas lifted their burden and carried it to its temporary abode.

  * * * *

  When he returned to his room Grace was once more ensconced in her chair with two freshly poured glasses of whisky standing on the small table in front of her. “A nice uppercut, my lord. I nearly cheered, although I’m not sure whether your laying Corbett out cold has lessened my problems or added to them. Would you care to explain your reasoning?”

  George grinned. “You saw it then? Through the window?”

  “A perfect view. You might not have been able to see me, but with the room backlit by lamplight, I could see you.”

  George took a glass from the table and resumed his seat on the chair by the desk. “Douglas is a good man. He has promised to keep Corbett at bay for a couple of days while we make our way to Gretna.”

  She stiffened, her fingertips drumming a rhythmic tattoo on the tabletop. “We? I think I have already proved I am not some weakling of a female in need of constant male supervision. I am quite capable of making my own way to Gretna, thank you.”

  George’s mouth twitched. So feisty. What I wouldn’t give to have a woman like Grace in my life…and bed. Mmmm…yes…bed. Naked, her hair tumbling down her back… His groin twitched at the thought. He crossed his legs and dismissed the delightful picture from his mind. “I am sure you are,” he said honestly. “However, like it or not I am now part of this escapade. I will not be left here to wonder as to its outcome. You can set out for Gretna on your own if you insist, but you will find me marching one step behind you every inch of the way regardless.”

  She eyed him appraisingly. “Very well, you may accompany me on the understanding you are neither saving nor rescuing me. You are a companion, no more.”

  “Agreed,” George said quickly, before she could think on the matter any further and possibly change her mind. “Do we shake on it?”

  Grace held out her hand, shook his and dropped it hurriedly, then picked up her glass and sipped. “So, I could see what was occurring in the room but not hear. How have you left matters?”

  George toasted her and decided that when he was less occupied he would think over the short, sharp frisson he’d experienced as they’d touched. Now was not the time to indulge in such things. “The landlord knows no more than Corbett is a ‘bad ‘un’ you need to get away from. I confided no other details. You were no longer in my room and Douglas has no clue as to where you disappeared to.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way. I will hide here for the remainder of the night, and we will depart at first light,” Grace said in a no-nonsense voice. “There is
no moon and as I am sure you are aware the road is not safe during the hours of darkness. Not only from those who would seek to relieve an unwary traveller of their purse or worse, but potholes and bogs.”

  She really was determined to be in charge. George held back from commenting. She’d learn soon enough he intended to be an active participant regarding their journey. He couldn’t help his gaze darting towards the bed, although that idea was shot down in flames by Grace immediately.

  “I,” she declared, “will be sleeping fully clothed on the bed. You will be spending the night in the armchair, covered by your greatcoat.”

  With an apologetic grin, George turned down the lamp wicks. “I didn’t ask or assume. I just had a momentary lapse of politeness. Try to get some sleep, we will need our wits about us when we leave.”

  By the light of the fire Grace climbed onto the bed and pulled the coverlet over herself. “I intend to. Goodnight.” In the rosy glow she watched him loosen his cravat, settle back in the chair and extend his long legs. His head tipped to one side and found the comfort of the padded side wing. Grace smiled as his breathing became regular and even. In repose, she had leisure to study George without seeming rude, and he really was the most handsome of men.

  What would it be like to bed a man who not only desires me, but for whom I also feel an equal passion for in return?

  It certainly wasn’t how it was with Roger. She was fond of him, very fond. He was so kind, and his courtship had been a soothing balm compared to the unpleasantness of living with a stepmother who detested both herself and Jane for no other than reason than she wanted to rule the roost and to have everyone, especially Papa, dance to her tune. Grace acknowledged she had been naive when she’d married, not knowing the difference between platonic love and one which also excited the senses. She hadn’t been revolted by the physical union between husband and wife, but the passion had been sadly one-sided and since Roger’s illness any intimate contact had ceased to exist at all. A loving friendship was what she and Roger had now, and in the main Grace was content with her life, but sometimes… She took a last look at George’s sleeping form and with a small sigh turned her cheek to the pillow and shut her eyes.

  * * * *

  The cacophony of the dawn chorus woke her at daybreak. She yawned and sat up. George, still asleep, emitted a soft snuffle. Grace grinned, picked up her pillow and sent it flying in his direction. “Stir yourself, lazybones.”

  Her missile hit its mark with a soft flump. George stirred and opened one bleary eye. “Good grief, is that any way to greet a man in the morning?”

  Grace laughed.

  He sat straighter and rubbed his fingers over the morning bristles on his chin. “And so bright and breezy too. Lord, I could do with a wash and shave.”

  Grace glanced ruefully at her own crumpled, slept-in day clothes. “As could I. Well, not the shave obviously, but I don’t have my portmanteau or even know where it is. You interrupted before I was informed as to which room I’d been allocated.”

  George stood and stretched. “I need speak to Douglas and say I need to hie home but will be back soon. I must leave coinage and a message for my shepherd, Callum, and let him know to do as he thinks fit at the sales. I best not enquire of your luggage. After all, we’re not supposed to be acquainted, and although our landlord is reliably discreet, I can place no such trust in the staff he employs. I can arrange for a change of clothes for you though. My friend Duncan lives roughly on our route and has a wife who will come to our aid. We all helped one another through a crisis a while back, and their marrying was the only good consequence to come out of it.” He grimaced. “That all the trouble was caused by my laudanum-addicted father they are kind enough to ignore in favour of insisting his actions led to their current happiness in the wedded state. They own a property not so far from here. I was due to visit them there after the sheep sales, before we all venture farther north to indulge in some country sports. If we make a short detour, Cairstine will supply all the essentials you need to travel on to Gretna in some degree of comfort.”

  Grace’s cheeks heated a little. Blast! Poppy aficionado? I really hit a sore spot there, then.

  They sounded such a tight-knit group she hesitated to intrude. “Will that not be putting them to rather too much trouble? It seems an imposition. They do not know me.”

  “No doubt they will say it’s part of the debt we all owe to each other.”

  “And what do you call it?” she asked, intrigued and pleased to learn a little more about him.

  “Friends who help each other out in times of need. How long before you are ready?”

  Grace considered. All she needed was to use the facilities. Anything else could be achieved later. “If you leave me alone, five minutes.”

  “I will give you ten.”

  He was as good as his word. Grace did all she needed and tidied herself as best she could. She finger-combed her hair and rued the fact she had no brush or comb before she roughly plaited it and tied the ends together. It would do until she found some ribbon or string. When George tapped on the door, she felt able to bid him enter with equanimity.

  Until she glanced at his face and saw his strained expression. “What?” she demanded. “What is wrong?”

  He grimaced. “Corbett’s so-called valet is dozing in the tap room with the door open. The snores are not authentic. The only other way out is somewhat congested as the landlord is having alterations made to the kitchens, and the staff will be stirring any minute. You should not be seen with me if it can be managed.”

  “The man’s name is Snodgrass,” Grace informed George. “Valet, coachman and all-round rat-faced weasel. Awful specimen of humanity. To avoid him had I best make use of the tree again?”

  “Hmm…” George frowned. “It then poses a problem when you reach the ground. It’s open viewing from there to where we get our horses.”

  “Horses, plural?”

  “I’ve persuaded Douglas I require to hire an additional pack horse to carry a little extra baggage I’ve managed to pick up…”

  “Baggage?” Grace grinned. “Well, it’s a novel way of describing me, for sure.”

  George eyed her thoughtfully. “We have a short walk to get to where Douglas will have tethered them, but it is at least out of sight on the other side of the building. I wonder… As you are accomplished with climbing trees, how are you with ladders? Of the rope kind.”

  Grace couldn’t help laughing. What had started out as a way of helping her sister to achieve her heart’s desire was now becoming decidedly interesting. She was conscious she’d been feeling ever older before her time these last few months with the staid lifestyle she led, but this adventure was certainly reviving her spirits and her yearning for a little excitement. “I am reasonably proficient with all kinds of ladders, rope or otherwise. Well,” she added honestly, “I was during my hoydenish girlhood, and although I have found no need of such skills in recent years, I hope I have not lost the art. Surely such a skill, once learned, is never forgotten?” She hoped. “Lead me to it.” Grace wondered just where George would procure a rope ladder. It was not something he would routinely carry in his luggage, was it? The riddle was soon solved though.

  “Splendid.” George grinned. “When Douglas showed me the horse available for hire, I spied a rope ladder coiled in the corner of the stable. The lads must use it to access the hay loft. I will liberate it. I think it best if I follow my normal morning routine. My washing water will arrive shortly…” He looked pointedly at the wardrobe. “And you will apparently not be here.”

  She held her hands up in mock horror. “Outrageous, Mr. Armstrong. A tree, a rope ladder and now concealment within your bedroom furniture. Whatever shifts will you be putting me to next during the course of this adventure?”

  “Well…” He smirked. “Conveniently located—just where we need it to be—is a communal dormitory where a bed may be hired for the night for those persons unable to afford a private room. Even more conven
iently, beside it is an anteroom for said persons to perform their ablutions, which just happens to have a window overlooking the stable yard…”

  “You wretch!” Grace spluttered. “The public dunny? What if said persons arrive to use the facilities and find me hiding in there?”

  His grin widened. “It has a privacy bolt.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  Grace lowered her voice to a muted mutter as she slipped silently inside the heavy mahogany wardrobe. “The night bucket had best not still be in situ.” George’s soft snort followed her in as she almost shut the door behind her, leaving a scant half an inch between door and jamb. The tiny aperture allowed in light and air, which was reassuring.

  Through the gap she saw George casually put a small valise on the floor in front of her. Not close enough to block her exit but nearby—to make sure there was no need for anyone to approach her hiding place. George bid the newcomer to enter, and Grace heard the rustle of skirts and a gentle thud as something, presumably the jug of hot water, was placed on the dresser. A few pleasantries were exchanged, then the servant opened the bedroom door to leave the room, and she heard Snodgrass say clearly, “Anyone seen my master?”

  She hoped George gave his answer of, “Not since yesterday. Why?“ with a straight face. Grace knew she would have found it difficult to do so. George strode to the door and shut it with a distinct snap in the man’s face.

  Grace bided her time until she thought the coast should be clear then stepped out of her hiding place. George was standing in front of the washstand, its porcelain bowl filled with water from the ewer, the lower half of his face covered in soapy foam.

  “All clear. Forgive me for subjecting you to my morning routine, but I can’t appear at breakfast unshaved.”

  Grace knew men removed their bristles, but as the process was normally a private matter between a man and his valet, she had never seen it. She looked at the open cut-throat razor George held in his hand with interest. The honed silver blade glinted, dangerously sharp. One slip, and she was sure the implement would live up to its name. “Fascinating. You have to slide that over your face and neck every day, do you?”