other hand, she had no desire to be cooped up in a closed carriage with him for who knew how long, since it would prove a severe test of her willpower.
Regardless of her own wishes or reservations, however, she didn’t dare delay.
“I don’t intend to stand here arguing, Winifred. If you won’t help me, I will hire a carriage at the posting inn.”
Impatiently, Arabella turned on her heel, but was stopped by Winifred’s protest. “Oh, very well, you may have my coach and servants. But if you wind up getting in over your head, my dear, you cannot say I didn’t warn you.”
“I won’t,” Arabella promised.
A quarter hour later, she sank back against the velvet squabs as Lady Freemantle’s coachman whipped up the team of horses. Five strapping grooms and footmen served as postilions and outriders, allowing Arabella to breathe a sigh of relief as she finally set out in pursuit of the eloping couple.
What Sybil had done was deplorable, Arabella reflected, but despite her anger and dismay at her errant pupil, she could sympathize to some extent.
After all, the girl was not so different from herself, unable to resist a seductive suitor.
Her relief lasted only a few hours. The coach made good time at first, heading directly for the nearby town of Hammersmith, where five main roads converged, and reaching north London and the main road to Scotland before dark. After that, however, they faced numerous delays, since they paused at each posting house to inquire after the fleeing Sybil and her scoundrel of a suitor.
To protect the chit’s reputation as well as her own, Arabella fabricated a tale about Sybil being her cousin, claiming they were making an urgent journey home since Sybil’s mother was gravely ill. Regrettably, though, none of the ostlers or innkeepers remembered seeing a raven-haired young lady, with or without her maid or gentleman escort.
When night fell, Arabella’s coachman had to slow the pace considerably, for the moonlight was greatly diminished by thick black clouds scudding across the sky. Then when they stopped briefly at a posting inn to change teams, other travelers warned that a fierce storm was brewing up ahead, directly in their path.
The warning proved all too true. The roiling clouds quickly turned ominous and soon gusts of wind began buffeting the coach, rocking Arabella inside. She could smell the heavy scent of rain in the air long before she heard the first drops strike the rooftop.
The thunderstorm hit full force a half hour later, lashing them with a blinding rain punctuated by frequent bursts of lightning and rolling cracks of thunder.
The danger grew even worse when the coach wheels started to slide precariously. The road had turned treacherous with mud, and Arabella found herself clutching the strap just to keep from being thrown off the seat each time the coach lurched over a rut.
Tension filled her and didn’t ease when she felt the vehicle slow to a halt a few moments later.
When the coachman drew back the small driver’s panel to speak to her, he had to shout to be heard over the pounding rain. “ ’Tis no use, Miss Loring! We ’ave to take shelter till the storm passes.”
Arabella nodded grimly, knowing they had no choice but to call a halt to the search tonight. Even if they avoided being struck by lightning, they risked serious accident and even injury from losing a wheel or turning over in a ditch.
“Can we make it to the next inn and put up for the night?” she shouted back over the din.
“Aye, there’s the Duck and Bill up ahead a mile or two. But I canna keep the team calm much longer.”
As if to emphasize his point, the heavens erupted again: A glittering bolt of lightning lit up the night with garish white, followed by an enormous clap of thunder, which sent the frightened horses plunging wildly ahead.
“Do your best,” she urged, grabbing the strap again as the coach lunged forward.
Thankfully the coachman wrestled his team to a halt, but another delay ensued while the two postilions climbed down to hand-lead the jittery horses through the engulfing tempest. It was heavy going, slogging through the mud and driving rain, and they only managed a snail’s pace.
Pitying the poor servants and animals who were exposed to the violent storm, Arabella muttered a frustrated oath. No doubt Sybil was tucked snugly in bed at an inn, sleeping soundly, while her pursuers were risking life and limb to chase after her.
By some miracle the coach made it safely to the Duck and Bill and limped into the deserted stable yard. The rain still came down in torrents, though, and when the coach door was opened by one of her footmen, it was slammed back by a gust of wind with enough force to take Arabella’s breath away.
Although she drew her hooded cloak tightly around her, by the time she made it inside the inn, she was drenched and shivering. But the innkeeper and his wife were eager to accommodate her, promising to see to her servants and horses and offering Arabella the last empty bedchamber. There was no private parlor available, since the inn was nearly full with stranded travelers.
She explained her lack of baggage similarly, by saying she hadn’t planned on stopping overnight, and giving the same tale as before about her aunt being critically ill. When she asked after her “cousin” Sybil, however, Arabella was gratified to hear that a couple matching Sybil’s and Onslow’s descriptions had changed horses and taken supper there some three hours earlier, which at least gave her confidence that she was on the right track.
The innkeeper’s wife led Arabella upstairs to a small but cozy bedchamber and lit the fire in the hearth, then left promising to bring her some supper and hot mulled wine shortly. Soon a welcoming blaze burned brightly enough to take the chill from the room although not from her bones.
Arabella removed her sodden cloak as well as her mud-caked shoes and stockings and arranged them before the fire to dry. Yet she couldn’t sit still. Instead, she paced restlessly before the hearth, feeling utterly impotent. The storm had spoiled her plans to reach Sybil tonight. Now she could only hope that the elopers had been delayed by the dreadful weather as well-and even if not, that she would catch up to them sometime tomorrow.
After a while, however, the lack of activity sent Arabella’s thoughts wandering down a different path, and she found herself dwelling on her own predicament, namely her wager with Marcus.
Rubbing her chilled arms as she stared down at the fire, she wondered if he would demand more time to win, since she hadn’t allowed him to share her company at all today and might not be home by tomorrow. And from there, she started remembering their moonlit tryst last night…how Marcus had taken her standing up, the searing passion-
Realizing where her errant reflections had taken her, Arabella gave a snort of vexation and turned away from the hearth.
Suddenly a wave of exhaustion claimed her. Since there was nothing more she could do this evening, she decided she might as well try to sleep, although the noise from the storm would likely make that difficult. Rain beat against the shutters, while the wind moaned around the eaves.
Trying to ignore the bluster, she removed her gown and petticoats and corset, intending to sleep in her shift, since she had no nightdress. She had just drawn a quilt around her to keep warm when she heard a soft rap on the door. Expecting that the innkeeper’s wife had returned with her supper and wine, Arabella crossed the room in time to hear the woman call out: “Yer ladyship? Yer ’usband is come.”
Pulling the quilt more tightly about her, she opened the door partway to peer out.
Her eyes widened first in surprise, then elation. Marcus stood there in the corridor, his wet ebony hair plastered to his head, the capes of his great coat dripping with rain, his top boots coated with mud. The leather saddlebags he’d slung over one arm were also soaked through, as was the tall beaver hat he carried.
When he offered her a cool smile, Arabella drank in the sight of him, realizing that he had somehow ridden after her. Odd how seeing him not only filled her with gladness but made all her weariness and misery suddenly evaporate.
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” he said, pushing the door open and strolling past her into the room. “I am pleased I finally caught up to you.”
