Scoundrel Ever After (Secrets and Scandals) Page 7

  Audrey glanced at Mr. Locke, who was conversing with the innkeeper near the front door. He’d procured these things for her, she was certain of it.

  “And don’t worry,” the innkeeper’s wife said, “your secret is safe with us. No one shall know the Millers passed through. I realize Miller isn’t likely your real name.” She winked at Audrey and gave her a quick hug.

  What sort of secret had Mr. Locke told them? Audrey set the bonnet atop her head and tucked the brush into the food bag. “Thank you for your kindness.” She turned and joined Mr. Locke.

  He opened the door for her and they stepped out into the overcast morning. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the bag.

  “Food from Mrs. Hodges. Thank you for asking for the bonnet and brush.”

  He looked at her askance. “How did you know that was me?”

  “How else would she have known?”

  He shrugged, moving toward the lean-to where their horse was stabled. “Maybe she was just observant.”

  Audrey stared after him. “Are you saying it’s obvious my hair was in want of a brush?”

  He turned. “Are you trying to make me into a villain?”

  She cringed internally. Wasn’t he a villain? “What story did you tell them?”

  “What we agreed to, that we were a young married couple.”

  The untied ribbons of her bonnet lifted in the breeze. “That can’t be all you said. Mrs. Hodges told me not to worry, that our ‘secret’ was safe.”

  He exhaled and came toward her. He took her hand and pulled her toward the lean-to. “We need to be on our way.”

  “You’re not going to tell me what you said, are you?”

  “What does it matter?” He let go of her hand when they got to the lean-to.

  She wanted to know the truth. She felt fairly certain by now that he was a criminal. He had to be. Why else would he run from Bow Street? And why else would he keep the truth from her? More importantly, if she believed he was a criminal, why was she trusting him? She’d given him a portion of her funds the previous night so he could pay for their lodgings. Had he used it all? He hadn’t given her any of it back.

  “Where’s the rest of the money I gave you?” she asked, her suspicion getting the better of her.

  He took the bag from her and tied it to the back of the horse, which was now sporting a saddle. “I had to use it all.”

  She was glad she hadn’t given him the lot. “Why?”

  He untied the horse and led her into the yard. “The lodgings, your accoutrements, the saddle, and a second horse, which we’ll need to have someone return at some point. I couldn’t afford to buy her outright.” He inclined his head toward the lane.

  A boy was leading another horse toward them. He came into the yard, touched his cap and handed the lead to Mr. Locke.

  “Thank you, lad.” Mr. Locke gave him a penny and the boy turned and ran back the way he’d come. “Actually, that was the last of the money.”

  She eyed the second horse. “Why did we need another mount?”

  “I thought we’d make better time if we rode separately. And I thought you might appreciate your own horse—with a sidesaddle—you’re a very fine horsewoman.”

  Another compliment and another flush of pleasure. She had to admit it was probably safer—at least for her sensibilities—if he wasn’t pressed behind her. “Thank you.”

  “May I help you up?”

  She tied her bonnet beneath her chin. “Yes, please. Does she have a name?”

  “I was told she’s called Athena.” He boosted her onto the horse and climbed atop the one they’d stolen the day before. “We’ll have to keep referring to this one as ‘girl,’ I suppose.”

  Audrey felt bad about stealing the first horse, and felt much better that they’d paid for everything today, even if it meant their funds were running low. And she was also glad he’d done the paying instead of resorting to thievery. Maybe he wasn’t truly a criminal after all. “Do you think we could return your horse to that farmer we, uh, borrowed it from?”

  “I suppose.” He didn’t sound as if he’d given it any thought. “To be honest, I don’t even know how we’ll get anyone to return your horse.”

  Had he lied? “But you told them you would. Return it, I mean.”

  “I did, and I will try.” He gave her a hard look. “Sometimes life doesn’t work out the way we plan.”

  She was well aware of that. Still, she felt a bit uneasy.

  As they rode out of the yard, he turned to her and said, “Mr. Hodges gave me directions on how to get to Wootton Bassett. Without taking the main roads of course.”

  Of course. Surely Mr. Hodges had found that odd. Suddenly she was quite fed up with him withholding information. “Why is Bow Street chasing you? I think I’ve a right to know what I’m fleeing.”

  “You’re not fleeing anything.” He kicked his horse into a trot.

  She followed him and easily caught up. She wasn’t going to let him ignore her questions again. Perhaps she could try another way to learn his closely-guarded secrets. “I’ve been thinking about you. You clearly know how to steal. I wonder if you stole a lady’s heart. You’re certainly charming and handsome enough.”

  He looked over at her. “Very amusing.”

  “Of course, Bow Street wouldn’t actually pursue you for such nonsense. So maybe you stole something else.”

  He was looking forward once more, but she could make out his scowl in profile.

  She continued on her path of inquiry. “Or perhaps it was some other crime entirely. Perhaps you exhibited public drunkenness.”

  “Haven’t we all? Save you of course, unless your two sherries at Michaelmas induced you to run amok in public.”

  She smiled. “What about blasphemy? You certainly like to swear a lot.”

  “Are you having fun?”

  “In the absence of your forthrightness, I have to make my own assumptions.” And yes, she was having fun. “I know! Adultery. As I said, you’re too handsome for your own good.”

  “Fine.” He slid her an embittered glance. “If I tell you something, will you stop?”

  She’d been hoping to divert him, but that was proving to be difficult. “That depends on what you tell me.”

  “When I was a lad, I was called ‘Pretty Boy.’” His tone held a weary scorn that provoked her to laugh.

  She looked over at him. Yes, he had a pretty face, but his attraction was so much more than that. He had a presence about him—of authority and arrogance, of intelligence and wit that gave him an aura of power, as if he was in absolute control of any situation. “Can I call you Pretty Boy?”

  He turned his head and their gazes connected. She chilled at the ice in his eyes. “No, you may not,” he said. “I hated that nickname. No one ever took me seriously.” He slowed his horse to a stop, and she did the same because she was absolutely compelled by him.

  “Would you like to know how I got rid of that nickname?” he asked softly. Dangerously.

  A shiver curled in her belly. “Yes.” The word was barely a whisper.

  “As a lad, I worked in a theft gang. When I was fifteen, I was tired of being discounted because of the way I looked. I wanted power. Prestige. Respect. So I killed the leader of the gang and assumed his place. No one ever called me ‘Pretty Boy’ again.”

  Chapter Five

  AS THE SUN began to set, Ethan looked over at Audrey. They’d barely exchanged words since he’d told her about killing Four-Finger Tom, and that had been hours ago. They’d stopped briefly for lunch and here and there for personal reasons, but for the most part, they’d ridden relentlessly. He wanted to put as many miles between him and London as possible. But then what? Hang around Wootton Bassett until when? Forever? His skin itched at the prospect of settling into a tiny village in the middle of the countryside.

  “Are we going to stop soon?” Exhaustion weighted her tone, and her posture was that of a person who was tired of sitting atop a horse. Ethan knew
this because he was certain it mirrored his own.

  He was weary, sore from being in the saddle so long, and his arm ached almost unbearably at times. He wanted to stop, but there was no village in sight. “I don’t know if we’ll find a place to stay before it gets dark. We may just have to make do with something else.”

  She moved her horse closer beside him, walking them side-by-side. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we may need to sleep wherever we find shelter. Provided we even find any.”

  She didn’t respond and kept her face directed straight ahead. He ought to apologize for frightening her earlier. He had frightened her—he was certain of it. He’d admitted to not only thievery but murder.

  He’d been considering what to do, trying to formulate a plan. Taking her out of London had been a gut reaction. Yes, she’d been in danger from Gin Jimmy, but Ethan wondered if he couldn’t have asked Jason to ensure her safety. He was sure his brother would’ve agreed. If only Ethan had trusted him. Or even thought of trusting him. Christ, having an ally—a true, blood ally—was going to take getting used to.

  He glanced at Audrey again, wilting in her saddle. His future was as uncertain as ever. She was a burden he couldn’t really afford, and he’d done what he’d set out to do—he’d gotten her out of London. He didn’t expect Gin Jimmy or Bow Street, who likely couldn’t spare a Runner for a merry chase, would follow them this far out. Ethan’s mind kept returning to the obvious solution: as soon as they reached Wootton Bassett, he’d leave her with her friends—she’d be safe this far from London—and be on his way.

  At last, a small building came into view. It sat at the edge of a large enclosure with a dozen or so sheep grazing in the golden rays of the setting sun filtering through the mottled clouds.

  “Will that work?” she asked, eyeing the shelter.

  “Let’s find out.” He kicked his horse into a canter and stopped at the edge of the enclosure. He dismounted, his wounds protesting angrily with the movement. His legs wobbled, like they were made of pudding. He tied the horse to the fence and climbed over to investigate the building.

  It was small, maybe twelve by fifteen feet, with three walls and support posts along the open side that faced the pasture. The dirt floor was littered with hay. Unfortunately, there were no blankets, but if they kept riding in search of something better they might not find anything else. This was, at least, shelter.

  He limped back to the fence, Christ, his arse was sore. She was still in the saddle. Smart girl. He didn’t really want to get back on his horse now that he was off.

  “It’s a shelter with a dirt floor.” He’d slept in worse.

  “Do you think we’ll find anything better?”

  He glanced at the rapidly darkening sky. “Probably not before the sun sets.”

  “Then we should stay here.” She was already sliding off her mount, before he could rush to her aid. Not that he would be much help with his arm. Some gentleman he was turning out to be.

  He wanted to hit something or yell at someone. Those were the ways he typically expended his frustrated energy. Definitely not the actions of a gentleman. But hadn’t he well and truly botched that effort? There was no hope for him now. If he returned to London, he’d be hanged. The best he could hope for was to start over somewhere else unless he wanted to take his chances with Teague and the rest of Bow Street. The glaring answer was hell no, but hadn’t his life changed? He had his brother he could call upon, and perhaps even Lord Daniel Carlyle, a viscount who was a former magistrate. Ethan had saved his life once—and the life of his wife. Would he come to Ethan’s aid? Though he owed Ethan at least one favor, if not two for past assistances, in Ethan’s experience people didn’t help each other unless there was something in it for them, and Ethan had nothing to offer any of them.

  Audrey tied her horse beside his, then removed the food pack from her saddle and came to the fence. It was only four feet high, so she handed the bag to Ethan and then hoisted herself up and over. Her skirts caught, but Ethan flipped them over so she could jump down unhindered.

  “I’ll take care of the horses in a minute,” Ethan said, following her into the shelter.

  She surveyed the interior and then turned toward him. “I suppose it’s better than nothing. I’ll set out some food.” She held her hand out for him to return the food bag.

  “Don’t bother.” He pulled a small hunk of cheese from the bag before transferring the pack to her. “I’ll just eat before I tend the animals.”

  Her eyes tentatively met his. “Is this how it’s going to be? You tell me you killed someone and that’s it? I’ve done everything you’ve asked. Indeed, without me, you’d be God-knows-where since your money was stolen.”

  He arched a brow at her. “You assume my money would’ve been stolen had you not accompanied me.”

  She blanched. He bit back an apology, hating that he’d grown soft in recent weeks. But why, hadn’t he wanted to change? If he wanted to shirk the mantle of his former life, what better way than to show kindness, especially to her of all people? “Pardon me,” he said softly. Yes, she deserved at least that. And a modicum of honesty. “I think you’ll be safe in Wootton Bassett. I can’t believe Gin Jimmy would follow us this far from London.”

  She clutched the bag and stared at him. “Are you planning to abandon me?”

  His temper—frayed by travel, his wounds, and most importantly, the lack of a plan—threatened to blow apart. He wiped his hand over his brow and scrubbed at his eyes for a moment. When he looked at her again, she was still watching him but there was a wariness in her gaze. “I’m not abandoning you. I got you out of London, and Gin Jimmy’s men won’t leave the city. These people in Wootton Bassett are your friends. Staying with them is much better than a life on the run.”

  “And then what? I’m to stay there forever? Alone?”

  He cringed at the disappointment in her questions. He hadn’t meant to . . . what, give her hope? For what? He leaned toward her, narrowing his eyes. “What would you have me do? As you so accurately surmised, I’m a criminal, not a gentleman who’s going to whisk you away to some fantasy life.”

  She drew the bag closer to her chest, maybe as protection. Or maybe she just wanted to hold on to something because she felt completely adrift, which was precisely how he felt. “I don’t think you want to be a criminal.”

  He’d never really wanted to be. But it had been better than begging. Or dying. “I killed that boy because I had to. His was marginalizing me to the point where I would’ve been excised from the gang.”

  She blinked. “Excised?”

  “Killed.”

  “You had no choice?”

  “Not if I wanted to live, Audrey.” It was the first time he’d used her given name in a moment that hadn’t involved them defending their lives and he liked the way it tasted on his tongue. “I lived on the streets. After my mother died, I had no one to turn to, no one to care for me. I made the most of my life with what I could.”

  That life seemed so far away, like someone else’s existence.

  “You have that chance again now,” she said softly. “You can change what you are, who you want to be.”

  He’d been trying to, before this Wolverton mess. “All I ever wanted was to bring my brother pain. To hurt him the way he and his mother had hurt me.”

  The pain in her eyes had warmed to empathy. At least he thought it might be—he couldn’t be certain since he’d only rarely been shown any. “Why?” she asked.

  There was no reason not to tell her. It wasn’t a secret, and it didn’t mean he trusted her. The facts of his life were just that—cold facts that he couldn’t change. “When my mother died, I had nothing. No one, save her final protector.” An image of Davis’s gray and desperate expression just before the hood had fallen over his face on hanging day swam before Ethan. “But he was a criminal, and I’d been raised to be a gentleman. I was supposed to go to Oxford.” The pain of his lost dreams superseded the agony in h
is arm.

  “I went to Jason and his mother, begged them to take me in. She laughed in my face. Then spit on me.” His left hand involuntarily curled into a fist.

  “Jason didn’t intervene?”

  Ethan’s answering laugh was hollow and dark, just like his husk of a heart. “Why would he? He hated me almost as much as she did. She threw me back into the street and I had no choice but to take Davis’s protection. Which meant working with him as a thief-taker.”

  Her brow furrowed. “That’s not a terrible thing.”

  “It is when he’s setting up the thefts and sending the thieves to prison or worse. And when he planned to use me in the same fashion.”

  “What do you mean?” The horror in her question matched the familiar sense of betrayal that roiled in his gut.

  “He was being investigated and had to deflect suspicion from himself. He set me up to take the fall for him, but I figured that out, and he’s the one who swung.”

  And that had been the beginning of Ethan’s downfall. From there, he’d joined the theft gang run by Four-Finger Tom. After taking that over, he’d gained respect and power. Soon after, he’d begun to work for Gin Jimmy’s crew, working his way up over the years until he’d become one of Jimmy’s most trusted men.

  Audrey set the bag down and moved toward him. Her eyes were soft, caring. No one had ever looked at him like that. Not even his mother when he’d been a young boy. He couldn’t bear her concern. He didn’t deserve something so pure. He backed away. “I’ll take care of the horses.”

  “Wait.” She touched his arm and it was like the jolt of energy one experienced just before a fight or a theft. But a thousand times better. “I can’t imagine the life you’ve led, what you’ve overcome . . .”

  He didn’t want her pity, and he didn’t deserve her understanding. “No, you can’t imagine. And this is why we’ll be parting ways. I’m a criminal and that’s all I’ll ever be.” The knowledge speared through him until he wanted to retch.

  She pressed her fingers into his forearm. “Why were you learning to waltz? You were behaving like a gentleman. All of London thinks you’re the charming, long-lost half-brother of Jason Lockwood.”