Latimer Kirkleigh loomed, a man not of this world, but of her imagination. Breathing heavily, his stance and manner that of a fierce, fearless beast, Ceressa truly believed Latimer was a mythical dragon in human form. Her hysterical musings evaporated as he took hold of her arm then wrapped his handkerchief about her bleeding hand. “What happened? A rendezvous turned sour? You should know better than to meet Charles Herrington, or haven’t you heard of his reputation? Unless, of course, you enjoy pain and humiliation. Come with me.”
“I d-d-don’t think I can walk,” she managed, unable to understand how Latimer had found her. And what did he think had happened? That she’d willingly come to Herrington? Did he think her—“I didn’t c-c-come here to—is—is he dead?”
“Don’t you want him dead?” he asked harshly. “Or were you actually enjoying his company?”
Ceressa looked up at him, shocked by his suggestion and the fury in his gaze.
“I only wanted him to let me go. He was lying—he lied to me.” She was trembling so badly she feared her limbs might detach.
“There seems to be a lot of that going on tonight. Hurry.”
“I c-c-can’t just leave him.”
“You’d prefer to wait until the drunkards downstairs realize he’s dead and that you murdered him?”
“Is he dead?” she asked again, thoughts rolling around in a senseless jumble. She hadn’t meant to kill Herrington—just make him let her go.
“I’m not going to stay to find out. And neither are you. No one would believe whatever story you concocted. Discovered in the room of a renowned licentious, corrupt barrister engaged in whatever you were engaged in is unlikely to earn you any sympathy. And I’d hate to see that beautiful neck encircled by a rope.”
“Please,” she begged, the tears flowing. “If you could just see if he still breathes.”
Uttering a huff of disgust, Latimer knelt, leaned over him, then stood. “I believe he’s only fainted. Now, we’re leaving.” Clasping her arm, he gave her no chance to delay as he dragged her from the room. And none too soon. The man who’d brought her to Herrington was hurrying toward the door. Latimer’s pace increased, forcing Ceressa to run to keep up. The man looked through the door, saw Herrington’s prostrate form, and yelled. Then loudly labeled her all manner of horrible names that jarred discordantly in her already ringing ears.
“She’s killed ’im, she has. Hurry! Stop her! Fetch the constable. She’s a murderess, she is. Stop her, I say!”
“What did I tell you?” Latimer asked even as he lifted her. Being carried down the steps proved quicker than her earlier ascent on foot, and even when they reached the street, he still carried her. He headed toward another carriage that Ceressa recognized as Sir Geoffrey’s.
“I c-c-can’t go with you.”
“You will go with me if you want to live.”
“You don’t really believe I was here to service—to do whatever a woman like that does? Charles Herrington asked me to meet him here on what I believed to be a serious matter. Take me back to Sir Geoffrey’s. He’ll straighten all of this. We should summon a doctor for Mr. Herrington.”
They’d reached the carriage, and he dumped her, climbed in, and took the opposite seat. The vehicle lurched and sped along the streets. Latimer kept looking behind, and she gasped aloud when he drew a pistol from beneath his coat.
“This is all a terrible misunderstanding,” Ceressa cried. “Please return me to Sir Geoffrey’s. My parents are in trouble, and their lives have been threatened. Charles Herrington is a criminal, but I can’t run away from what I’ve done.” Latimer turned back, and though she couldn’t see his face, she sensed he was breathing fire again. He took hold of her shoulder with his free hand.
“I’ll thank you to shut up. We have a mob of crazed sots lusting for blood giving chase, and you are in danger of dying before the proper authorities can be summoned to sort out this morass. The man was screaming loud enough for Gabriel to hear up in Heaven that you’d murdered Herrington. That’s all it takes to arouse the rabble that frequents the Red Rose Inn. You really should have met Herrington elsewhere.”
“He was supposed to be at the Sword and Crown.” Ceressa realized that Latimer was being sarcastic, and she clenched her uninjured hand to keep from pummeling him. Her wounded hand was beginning to throb. “I don’t much care for your manner or opinions.”
“That doesn’t bother me. And I care not a wit for a spoiled, thoughtless, flighty woman who’d place herself in such a mess.”
“Then why are you helping me?” Angry tears scorched her cheeks.
“Because you remind me of someone, and I would hope, were she in trouble, some soul would come to her aid.” His voice was unexpectedly soft as though the memory had robbed him of his anger. But such proved to be painfully temporary. “However, I’m now seriously questioning why I’ve involved myself in your tawdry affair.”
Ceressa winced at the unmistakable aggravation in his voice.
“I hope your time with Herrington was worth it.”
This particular dragon was lightning-quick, and he saw the slap coming. Grabbing Ceressa’s wrist, he forced her arm back and rose from his seat to lean over her.
“Listen to me and listen to me well.” He hissed, now reminding her of a striking adder. “I don’t care why you went to Herrington tonight after offering yourself to me on the altar of marriage a scant two hours ago. Lying and telling me this has to do with your parents is truly an insult to my intelligence. Women are all alike—schemers and manipulators. But now you’re coming to Virginia. You can thank yourself for this peccadillo, and you have no choice unless you prefer I let you be torn limb from limb by the patrons of the Red Rose Inn. I’ve decided to take you up on your offer. You’ll do nicely as a replacement to the bride Geoffrey chased away. I hope that suits you.”
****
Though the carriage was dark, Latimer had a good idea what expression covered her face. He suspected her lovely visage would have paled to ashen with shock. But there would be something in her violet-brown eyes—he’d seen it when he rejected her offer to marry. It was dignity and, regardless of what she’d done or with whom she’d unadvisedly chosen to cavort, he knew it was there. He’d once possessed the same, which had filled him with a sense of rightness that only God could give. But it’d been so long since he’d felt that—so very long.
She breathed erratically, and he sensed the rise and fall, felt the steady drum of her pulse where his fingers clamped. She had spirit, he’d hand her that, and even when terrified, it wouldn’t be subdued. If he’d been a minute later in that dismal room, she’d have died. Her life was still in jeopardy if they didn’t reach the ship. He’d seen what angry, drunken mobs could do both in London and in James Cittie.
“You’d force me to go to Virginia against my will.”
Ah, she’s found her tongue; what joy, Latimer thought derisively while his pulse commenced hammering with…what? He refused to pursue that.
“Less than two hours ago you were volunteering to go. Have you forgotten?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing.” There was a distinct catch in her voice. “Just stop the carriage and let me out. They’re looking for me. I’ll take my chances on the streets.” The carriage chose to balance on two wheels as the driver rounded a corner only to stop so suddenly, Latimer was thrown back. The lady was thrown forward, stopped by his chest, the top of her head just below his chin. The unmistakable babble of a frenzied crowd shouting and yelling filled the cold, damp air.
“We’ll take our chances on the street,” he corrected. Kicking open the door, he hauled her out. She fell heavily. Latimer called up to the driver. “Go back to Sir Geoffrey. And don’t stop until you’ve passed through the gates of the property. Hurry.” The driver lost no time in complying, flicking his whip over the heads of the snorting, lathered horses. In possession of her hand, Latimer strode toward the murky shadows. His pace forced her to run, but he made no effort to slow. He knew with deadly certainty she would never convince the men that she was innocent of any wrongdoing.
The evidence was irrefutable—a young woman alone with an affluent, older, married man, sequestered in a squalid chamber of a disreputable inn where no one will look. The encounter turns violent, and she decides she doesn’t want to fulfill her part of the clandestine liaison, stabbing her lover during the ensuing altercation. Below stairs exists an assortment of waterfront scum and salacious individuals, drunk with ale and a lust for violence that burns feverishly.
Latimer was sickened by the vivid images. For one brief moment, he chastised himself for judging—judging her, Herrington, Herrington’s slimy minion, and all the others that had become part of this macabre night. There’d been a time when his greatest desire and hope had been to bring God’s gift of salvation to such individuals. Had God led him to help her turn her life about? He seriously doubted that the Creator had any plans to use him, given the fact he’d pretty much ignored the Almighty since leaving England. Her reputation was now in shambles, ruined beyond repair, and if Herrington’s injury led to his demise, she could still be convicted of murder—if she survived the mob. Her only hope was to leave England.
“You have to keep up with me.” He spoke tersely. “We’ve got to reach the ship before it sails.”
“I can’t go with you,” she insisted, her voice catching on a sob. “I have to find my parents.” She pulled back to slow him, but he wrenched her arm, which encouraged her to keep up.
“I have no idea why you’re babbling about your parents, but your real concern should be avoiding a noose.” He gave her no chance to protest as, with pistol in hand, he endeavored to lose them in the endless alleys and narrow streets that he’d explored as an oft too adventurous lad. Following a number of meandering paths, he took them deeper into the heart of the wharves and further from the mob.
Soon the demands for blood and drunken shouts were left behind with the rabble that had given chase to Geoffrey’s carriage. They were replaced by the welcome creak of timbers, the strain of ropes pulled taut by the rising tide, and the wind soughing through furled sails. Water slapped, and the clanging of a bell signaled the hour.
When Geoffrey’s merchantman rose into view, Latimer called out, and the gangplank that was being lifted was quickly lowered. Several sailors murmured greetings while one alerted the captain of his arrival. High in the rigging, men climbed about, fearlessly accustomed to the height. Latimer’s attention was drawn to the captain who hailed him from the quarterdeck.
Thrusting the lady before him, they headed up the wooden plank; Latimer was forced to prod her along with his hands firmly pressed to her back. Captain Stokeley hurried to the lower deck as soon as they boarded. It was then Latimer noticed how badly she trembled, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Pity and compassion warred with his anger and fury as the tension ebbed. Her terror was very real and doubtless the result of Herrington’s assault. He was shamed that he’d only added to her fear with his taunts and callous words. What the Lord must think of him.
“We thought you’d changed your mind, Lord Kirkleigh. You arrived just in time. And this must be the Lady Heloise?” Captain Stokeley swept off his hat as he bowed.
“The Lady Heloise had a change of heart,” Latimer returned stiffly. “This is her replacement.” Captain Stokeley’s eyes registered confusion even as Latimer mentally labeled his comment as callous. He shook his head. “I’ll explain it all later. My intended has hurt her hand and requires stitches. And I’m sure she wishes to freshen up. I’d like to give her the opportunity to do so.”
She tugged on his arm. “Please, you don’t understand. Let me leave.”
Latimer looked down, willing himself not to shake her into silence. Her beautiful eyes filled with tears, and he almost changed his mind until he thought of what could happen if he complied with her wishes.
“Excuse me, Captain. I believe my fiancée would like a word with me in private.” Grasping her arm, he pulled her to the side fully aware of the interest. He noticed that a silver-haired man and a young girl watched them with open curiosity from their place across the deck.
“Might I remind you I’m trying to save your life?” He spoke between clenched teeth.
“I know you are. But I have to return to Sir Geoffrey. Please.”
Her eyes and voice twisted everything inside him. She’d already enticed him to commit the greatest idiocy in rescuing her and angering a dozen bloodthirsty sots.
“Your only choice is to come with me.” His tone was intentionally sharp as he glared at her. He could feel the rage mounting as the tears dripped from her quivering chin.
That served as his undoing. Folding her in his arms, he lowered his face into unbound curls, scented with a hint of rose. “Why did you lie? Why did you go to Herrington? Answer me. Answer me!” He demanded. He felt her body relax, as though she had resolved something—her fate, perhaps? He dared to raise his head and met her gaze.
“I have deceived you,” she whispered raggedly. “And I pray that God and you will forgive me. What I have told you about my parents is true. But I am not a stranger to you, as I allowed you to believe. My name—my real name—is Ceressa Quarles.”
****
Ceressa withered beneath his glare, aware of his twitching jaw and tautly stretched lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, not sure what she expected. To her surprise, he released her and walked away. Taking a few steps, he whirled about, once more reminding Ceressa of a dragon; this time fire shooting from his eyes.
“Are you coming or shall I carry you?” he asked with stunning calm.
She greatly feared and suspected he was a seething cauldron, ready to boil. When she failed to move, he returned. Without warning, he put his arms beneath her and lifted her.
“Latimer, I cannot—will not—what are you doing?” she screeched, as he walked toward the captain who was surrounded by officers, all open-mouthed and gawking at this unexpected spectacle.
“It would be pointless to indulge in needless chatter, madam. My father, apparently, has had the last laugh.”
“Put me down,” she shrieked, hitting his chest with more strength.
He did as she instructed, and as soon as her feet touched deck, she lifted her skirts and petticoats and ran toward the gangplank, dutiful sailors once again lifting it up. Ceressa knew she couldn’t leap over the side and land, but she surged forward even as Latimer called her name in warning. A wet, slippery deck and ropes scattered all about didn’t aid her escape efforts, and when her heel caught on a hemp line, her other foot slipped out from under. As she went down, the last thing she noticed was the gangplank being stored securely. Then everything went black.