Sandra Owens Page 2

  Something had changed this time, however. She looked down at the six pennies in her hand. There should only be one coin, a shilling. “There is some mistake, sir. This is only half of what I am supposed to receive.”

  His meaty fingers caressed his chin while his gaze traveled over her. “Send the boy outside to play and we’ll have a cozy chat, you and I. See if we can’t come to an understanding, luv.”

  Her belly heaved. Oh God, she was going to be sick.

  Jamie tightened his grip on her hand. “I’m not leaving my Mama here with you.”

  Her little hero stepped in front of her. The despicable man raised his hand as if to strike her son. Diana fled, dragging Jamie behind her. When she felt like she had put a safe distance between them and danger, she walked off the lane and leaned against a nearby tree. She pressed a fist against her churning stomach and dragged deep gulps of fresh air into her lungs. How had her life come to this? She was the daughter of a marquess. That alone should have protected her from vile men who preyed on women.

  “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you, Mama.”

  Tears burned her eyes. Like her, he had learned long ago how to recognize the signs of danger. The only thing worse than a child of ten having such knowledge, was that his father had been the one to teach him. She knelt down and hugged him. “I know, darling. You are so brave. We need to stop and purchase a bag of flour and a few other things on our way home. Suppose I buy an apple and a little sugar so I can make you a tart?”

  His face lit up. “I would like that ever so much.”

  Diana looked at the pennies in her hand wondering how far she could stretch them. She frowned. There were only five. She glanced back down the lane. Mr. Bloodstone stood on his steps flipping a coin in the air, his mouth curved in a mocking smile. She jerked her gaze from the man in possession of her lost penny and took a handkerchief out of her pocket, carefully wrapping her precious coins inside.

  “Let’s go get that apple.” She took Jamie’s hand and steeled her mind for the bargaining to come. The only thing Mrs. Redmond loved more than a good haggle was trying to pry Diana’s story from her. Diana was determined to leave the woman’s shop with not only the necessary essentials, but also at least one apple and a cup of sugar. Extravagant, no question. But heroes deserved a reward and Jamie would have his tart.

  Nearing the village, Jamie let go of her hand and pointed. “Look, Mama!”

  A traveling coach thundered past on the crossroad, its four big black horses at a full gallop. There was a crest on the door, but she was too far away to see it.

  Jamie’s eyes were wide with wonder. “I think that must have been the king.”

  Not likely, but if he fancied he saw the king, she would not tell him otherwise. She smiled. “I think you must be right.”

  ****

  Michael approached Coventry in his traveling coach, led by his four best horses. He had left London an angry man, and two hard days of travel and two long, sleepless nights at inns with too much time to think hadn’t improved his mood. What he refused to consider was the role he had played in Leo’s game. If what Leo said was true and all Michael saw that night was an innocent girl drugged by his cousin, then he had done worse by her than Leo in not trusting her.

  It didn’t bear thinking of.

  His mouth set in a firm line, he turned his attention to the passing scenery. He was minutes from the village. The first order of business would be to find an inn where his horses would get a much-needed rubdown and rest. Then tomorrow morning, he would pay a visit to Mr. Bloodstone. Perhaps the man would do him the favor of refusing to answer his questions.

  When did you become so bloodthirsty? An easy question to answer. The moment he read Leo’s letter. The coach passed a cross street. He glanced down the lane and saw a woman and boy. She wasn’t close enough to see her face, but her hair reminded him of Diana’s. Eleven years and her honey-colored hair was still a sharp memory. He could even recall the silken feel of it.

  How had he not known these memories were still there, stored away and only waiting for the right moment to surface? He didn’t want them. Their chance had come and gone. All he could offer now was a safe haven for her and his perhaps son. The boy was family, be it son or cousin, it didn’t matter. Michael would protect the child and his mother, give them a place to live, make sure they had food on the table and clothes on their backs.

  He would want to get to know the boy, which would mean he would have to see her. Had she changed much since he last knew her? One of those damned memories came to him. They were strolling in Hyde Park on a brisk spring day. He had been doing his best to impress her with his witty remarks. She’d looked up at him and smiled. He had stumbled and almost fallen from the wonder of it. Her smile was the sunshine. It would keep him warm on cold winter days. It was a diamond, a thing of beauty. It was…

  “Bloody hell. Stop.”

  Inside the closed carriage, his words bounced off the walls, taunting him. Just stop it. No more memories.

  But after her years in his cousin’s hands, did she still smile?

  Chapter Two

  Michael finished his breakfast of beefsteak and eggs and left the Crowing Cock Inn on a rented horse. The beast was better than he had hoped for, but not by much. “If I am the first to tell you this,” he said to the dull brown, shaggy horse named Adonis, “then my apologies. But you are an ugly creature, and whoever named you was obviously blind.” The animal flicked one lazy ear in half interest.

  The innkeeper’s directions to Mr. Bloodstone’s manor house matched those of his cousin’s solicitor, regretfully taking away the only reason Michael had for killing the bastard as soon as he returned to London. Perhaps Bloodstone would be more accommodating.

  Michael stopped and pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “We go down this road, then take the right fork where we see the cow. What do you make of that, Adonis? Does the cow never move?”

  Adonis didn’t seem to know. Michael spurred his mount, surprised when the horse took off at a speed belying his appearance. Good. The sooner he learned where the boy and his mother were living, the sooner he could collect them and return to… To where exactly? What was he to do with them? Taking them back to London and installing them in his townhouse was out of the question. He pulled back on the reins. He’d had two days on his journey to decide this, but had been so angry that he’d not given the problem any thought.

  There was only one place he could think of that would be suitable. Initially, at least. Wyburne, his hunting lodge was only forty miles or so from Coventry and best of all, isolated. The servants were trustworthy, and too far from Town to spread gossip even if they were so inclined. It was also less than fifteen miles from his estate, Draven Park, another benefit. He could take advantage of the proximity to catch up on estate matters.

  Once he assessed the condition of the boy and his mother, he would have a better idea of what he needed to do. They would likely need new clothes. What else, he wouldn’t know until he found them.

  Satisfied he had the matter settled, he clicked at Adonis. “Let us be about finding that cow.”

  Michael found the bovine right where it was supposed to be. The sign looked as if it had been in place for years. Although faded, the crudely drawn cow was still visible. His lips twitched at the words along the bottom. “Cheap Cows for Sale.”

  “What do you think, Adonis? Are the cows inexpensive or are they miserly?”

  Underneath the amusing words it said, “See Mr. Bloodstone.” An arrow pointed to the right. Oh, he fully intended to see Mr. Bloodstone. Another mile down the road he came to a small manor house. A lone cow stared at him from the pasture across the lane. He dismounted and tied the reins to a post near the steps. Before he could approach the door, it opened and a man Michael estimated to be in his fifties stepped out.

  “Are you Mr. Bloodstone?”

  “Are you here to buy the cow?”

  Michael glanced down at his waistcoat made by Weston,
then further to his boots made by Hoby. Did he look like a man who would want a cow, and a miserly one at that? He shook his head. “No, I am here on another matter. I am looking for directions to the cottage you are renting to Lady Brantley.”

  The man took a step back, putting his hand on the door, opening it. “Why do you want to know?”

  Michael walked up the steps and pushed the door closed. “My reason is not your concern. My question is a simple one, requiring a simple answer. Where can I find her?”

  “The lady is a particular friend of mine and looks to me for protection. Leave your name and I will ask if she is willing to see you.”

  Mr. Bloodstone tugged on the door, but Michael kept his arm braced against it. He took in the food stains on the neck cloth, the buttons stretched tight on the waistcoat and the man’s mean eyes. If Diana were a particular friend of his, Michael would buy the damned cow and eat it. Did she have to deal personally with this piece of shite? His temper, already short, slipped another notch.

  “You want my name, sir? Fine. I am the Earl of Daventry. You should also know that I have a yearning, one that I am having difficulty controlling, to kill someone. You are now high on my list of favorites. If you infer one more time Lady Brantley is anything but respectable, that she would have anything to do with the likes of you, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  He got his directions, but rode away disappointed that once again he had been denied the opportunity to satisfy his blood thirst.

  ****

  Diana took a moment to enjoy the antics of her son. Jamie was trying to catch minnows, but the wily things stayed just out of his reach. She chuckled and continued to scrub their clothes against the rock. Lifting her face to the sun, she welcomed the warmth, wishing it could banish the cold now living inside her.

  Dinner would be the same as last night and the night before. If she had only known how her life would turn out, she would have spent all her time in her parents’ kitchen learning if there were more than two ways to prepare potatoes.

  Her garden was a disappointment. She was learning to grow vegetables, which would be nice for next year, but was of no help now. Thankfully, they had the chickens. She had taken in mending, spending hours at night sewing by the light of a candle, using the meager coins she received to purchase the vicious birds.

  She looked at the wounds on her hands. Someone should have told her how protective the blasted things were of their eggs. Just one more thing she never thought she might need to know. Their eggs and the potatoes she managed to grow kept them fed, but winter was fast approaching. The thought of not having enough food for Jamie was beyond frightening.

  If only she had a small bit of the money she once spent on gowns, bonnets, and ribbons, without a thought to their cost. Someone should have warned her dreams could shatter and love wasn’t to be trusted. Tears burned her eyes. She furiously pounded the threadbare chemise against the rock, anger boiling up from deep inside, making her want to scream.

  Damn Leo, damn her father, and damn Michael. No, she wouldn’t think about the one who should have been her husband. Except in her dreams, which she had yet to learn to control, she hadn’t allowed herself to think of him for years. She wasn’t going to start now. The fairy tale future with the man of her heart had been but a wisp of smoke, here and then gone.

  She had not been taught how to keep a ten-year-old boy alive and healthy without a man by her side. She had not been prepared for how to deal with the Leos and Bloodstones of this world.

  The garment caught on the rough edge of the rock, its thin fabric ripping. She dropped the chemise and stared at it. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head until she faded to nothing.

  Her gaze fell on her son. He had promised to catch fish for their dinner. How many minnows would it take to feed them? Was there such a thing as minnow soup? She bowed her head and pressed a hand to her forehead, forcing down the hysterical laughter that threatened.

  She could do this, had to for him. She would learn to grow vegetables, take in more sewing and become a pig farmer, if necessary, to protect Jamie. She had even swallowed her pride and written to her father for help, but his silence spoke volumes. If she showed up on his doorstep with Jamie, would he turn them away? Even though he had disowned her, could he stand by while his daughter and grandson starved?

  “Yes!” Jamie beamed, holding a tiny thrashing fish by its tail.

  She wished it were big enough to eat. “What are you going to do with it?”

  Instead of answering, he dropped his catch, his young face taking on a scowl at something behind her.

  Diana looked over her shoulder. Oh God, now her dreams were taking life. If this continued, she would end up in Bedlam. Her heart pounded in her chest. She took deep breaths in an attempt to get air back into her lungs, blinking hard to clear her vision. As if she hadn’t enough troubles, her mind was playing tricks and conjuring up an illusion of him.

  Michael. The man whose name she spoke in hazy dreams stood tall and proud staring down at them. The illusion moved, stepping forward. Mercy, he was real. How was that possible? Why was he here? What did he want? The days when she had prayed to see him come for her were long past. Why now?

  She took in his fine clothes, thinking the cost of his Hessian boots alone would go a long way in keeping her and Jamie fed. Resentment simmered. Lord Daventry obviously hadn’t been reduced to living on six pennies a month. He wasn’t existing on poorly cooked potatoes and eggs if his muscular body was any indication. Her gaze shifted to Jamie, comparing his bone thin arms and legs, his sunken cheeks to those of the well-built, full-cheeked man standing silently before them. The man who had tossed her away.

  Rage made her senseless.

  ****

  Michael stood at the edge of the clearing and stared at the woman he had once loved. She was different. The young, laughing, and beautiful Diana of his memory now appeared tired and afraid. His gaze turned to the boy. Was this his son?

  He looked back at Diana, the woman he had pledged to love, the woman he had promised to protect and cherish. Had he truly failed her? Or was Leo’s letter a lie? Did it matter?

  Suddenly, she was barreling toward him. He had a moment to think she was running into his arms before she crashed into him, her fists pummeling his chest. A second, much smaller body followed, attacking his knees and thighs. He made no move to stop them, believing he deserved their anger, especially hers. They weren’t hurting him, both too undernourished and weak to do any damage. He had imagined several scenarios on first seeing her again, but this had not been one. He didn’t know what to do other than let them beat on him until they were too exhausted to continue.

  “You piece of dirt. You worm. You…you…”

  Bloody bastard Michael finished for her, but the words didn’t escape his lips out of respect for his possible son.

  “You leave my mama alone.”

  At the boy’s words, the woman he had once thought of as his slid to her knees and buried her face in her hands. It was a position he didn’t like. He wanted her on her feet, fire in her eyes, fists swinging. He wanted to scoop her up, carry her to safety and soothe her hurts. What to do with this beaten down woman was beyond his knowledge.

  All he knew was this: Lady Diana Cavanaugh had been reduced to washing clothes on a rock and it was so very, very wrong.

  James stepped back next to his mother and put his hand possessively on her shoulder. “You made my mama cry. I want you to go away.”

  Michael smiled at the boy, hoping to assure him he meant no harm. “I’m sorry, but I must speak to her.” He held out a hand. “Diana?”

  She lifted her gaze to his hand and scooted backwards. She stood without his help, her face devoid of any expression. “Lord Daventry.”

  At the utterance of his name, the boy rushed to stand in front of her and gave Michael a fierce glare. His cousin had spoken true. James hated him. It shouldn’t
hurt. He had been warned by Leo’s words to expect it, but he hadn’t really understood until now. Michael didn’t know how to go on from here. He would take them to his home, and into his protection, but how best to do it? She had changed. The woman standing before him obviously wished him to Hades.

  Her gaze met his briefly before she looked away. “My lord, why are you here?”

  My lord? Once there had been so many words between them. My lord was not one of them. “I’ve come to take you home.”

  She looked at him as if he were mad. “Home? This is our home.”

  “No, Diana. No, it isn’t. This is not where you are meant to be.”

  Her eyes closed, likely praying he would be gone when she opened them. She looked like a tired, underfed waif, but he still thought her beautiful no matter her sad gown and fatigue-bruised eyes.

  The child glared at him, his stance projecting defiance. Michael couldn’t help feeling pride in the boy’s daring. “James,” he said. “That is your name, is it not?”

  “What do you care, sir?”

  “If you believe nothing else, believe this one thing. I care.”

  Diana’s eyes flashed with pain and the boy’s shot daggers of fire back at him. Michael could have fallen to his knees and wept to see such evidence of fear and hatred. Curse you, Leo. Michael tapped his fingers over his heart where an old, familiar ache materialized. He had felt this same pain eleven years ago and thought he’d banished it. How had he allowed one evil man to destroy three lives?

  “James, would you be kind enough to allow me a few minutes to talk with your mother?”

  The boy was obviously on the verge of saying no when Diana placed a hand on his shoulder. “Go back to the house, Jamie. I will be there shortly.”

  Giving him one last glare, Jamie stomped off, disappearing down the road. Michael was suddenly at a loss for words.

  “My lord?”

  He deserved her formality, but there had been a time when she had whispered his name while speaking words of love. Her hands, red and raw, the nails broken, were clenched tightly. Rage burned deep in his gut, souring his stomach. Between the two of them, he and Leo had destroyed a beautiful woman. He should prostrate himself at her feet and beg forgiveness.