The Mysterious Miss Fairchild (HQR Historical) Read online

  ‘You must turn back immediately.’ There was no response. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘No talk.’

  Natalya could not recognise the accent from just two words, but it was very thick.

  ‘This is an abduction,’ she said imperiously. ‘I demand you let me go.’

  The woman did not move and her silence was more unnerving than anything else. Natalya felt the coach slowing and as they clattered over a bridge she fell on the door, hands scrabbling for the handle. She would jump out and risk broken bones if only she could escape! To her frustration she found the handle had been removed, as had the strap to let down the window. The woman opposite reached over and caught her shoulders, pushing her back into her seat with surprising strength.

  ‘You stay.’

  Shocked, Natalya huddled back in her corner. She was very frightened, but she was determined she would not cry. Biting her lip, she gazed out of the window. She had no idea where they were, for she rarely went out of Bath and never at night. The landscape looked strange, unfamiliar in the darkness. She shivered and rubbed her bare arms.

  The shadowy figure opposite shifted, her bulky figure blocking out even more of the light as she removed her cloak and handed it to Natalya.

  ‘Oh, so you do not want me to die of cold.’ The remark was met with only silence.

  Natalya threw the cloak about her shoulders. It was too dark to see, but she could feel the quality of the wool. It was heavy and expensive. Her companion was no slattern from the gutter. Natalya guessed she was some sort of servant, but whether she was maid to a countess or a courtesan she had no idea.

  The carriage rattled on through the night. The faint moonlight occasionally showed the black outlines of woods or buildings, but there was no sign of life and Natalya guessed it must be very late. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but it had been gone eleven o’clock when she had slipped down to the garden.

  They drove past a posting inn, where lights shone from some of the windows and torches flared in the yard. The sober pace of the vehicle suggested to Natalya that the driver had no desire to stop and change horses. She would be missed, at some point, but would anyone guess what had happened? Would anyone know where to begin searching for her?

  How foolish she had been to slip away without telling anyone. She had thought she was safe enough in the walled garden. She frowned. Had her abductors bribed the Pridhams’ servants, or had they overpowered them and left them unconscious, or bound?

  The idea that someone had gone to such lengths to carry her off was frightening, but she forced herself to stay calm. She had a female for company, she must hope that was a sign they meant her no harm. Not yet, at least. While they were travelling she was safe, but she would need all her wits about her once they reached their destination, wherever that might be.

  Natalya knew she should rest, but her overwrought nerves refused to give in. Sleep was impossible. She found her eyes continually opening to stare out of the window. In the far corner, her travelling companion had no such trouble. She was snoring loudly.

  Quietly Natalya drew off her gloves and tried the doors and windows again, running her fingers around the frames. There was no way out, short of breaking the glass. She considered it, but not only would the broken shards be deadly, the noise would alert her captors before she could even begin to climb out.

  Sighing, she sank back into her corner and stared out at the night. The sliver of moon had slipped to the horizon and in the near-complete darkness the horses had slowed to a walk. Natalya wondered what time it was. One o’clock, two? Three? Had she been missed yet, or were the guests still filling the Pridhams’ reception rooms, disguising the fact that she was not present?

  Natalya would have preferred a small party with only true friends such as the Grishams and Mrs Ancrum. And perhaps Freddie. She counted him among her friends now, although her aunt had been most reluctant to send him an invitation. However, Natalya had insisted, more out of stubbornness and a desire to have her way in at least one small thing. That little victory had resulted in Natalya issuing an invitation to Freddie’s uncle, too, and she had discovered that her aunt was not at all averse to adding such a fashionable person as Tristan to her lists.

  Tristan. Leaning her head against the squabs, Natalya stared out of the window, allowing her thoughts to move away from her predicament for a while. When had she begun to think of him by that name? It was as if she had known him for ever. She wanted so much to call him a friend, to trust him, but the feelings he aroused in her were confusing and frightening.

  But not as frightening as her current situation. The woman snoring in the opposite corner was strong. From the rumble of voices overhead there were at least two men on the box. She was a prisoner and being carried far away from anyone she might consider a friend. She had never felt so alone before.

  Something went past, momentarily blotting out the dim light. A horseman. Natalya banged on the window and screamed. The rider had pulled ahead of the carriage. She heard shouts, raised voices from the box, then the coach came to a stand.

  In the opposite corner the woman had stirred and, although she could see nothing but shadows, Natalya guessed she, too, was alert and listening. The carriage rocked as one of the men climbed down. He opened the door and Natalya almost burst into tears when she heard a familiar voice ordering the man to climb back on to the box.

  The woman in the corner muttered angrily. She rose from her seat, but Natalya was quicker. She jumped up, pulling off the cloak as she did so. She threw it over the woman and pushed her back with all her might. Then she jumped out of the carriage and slammed the door shut behind her.

  ‘Well done, Miss Fairchild.’

  Tristan’s tone was calm, reassuring. She could only see his black outline at the side of the road, the moonlight glinting off the glossy flanks of his horse. It also gleamed on the barrel of the deadly pistol he was aiming towards the driver and the guard.

  ‘Now, ma’am, perhaps you could pick up that shotgun and throw it into the ditch. Thank you.’ He stretched out his free hand. ‘Time to leave, I think.’

  Natalya did not hesitate. She gripped his fingers and put her foot on the toe of his boot. As she pushed off from the ground, he hauled her up and across the saddle in front of him. He muttered a terse, ‘Hold on’, and then they were moving past the carriage.

  She heard the coachman angrily cursing his companion and ordering him to get down and find the shotgun, but Tristan had kicked his mount on and the voices were lost in the darkness. Natalya clung on as they cantered along the road until they came to a break in the hedge. Tristan slowed the horse and pushed through into an open field.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked tersely, keeping the horse moving.

  Natalya had been clinging tightly to him, but now she sat up a little.

  ‘No.’ She could not stop her voice shaking. ‘Frightened.’

  ‘You were very brave. Nimble, too,’ he added, the harsh note in his voice replaced by a tremor of laughter.

  She glanced down and saw that her white skirts were still hitched up above her knees.

  ‘Oh, heavens!’

  Somehow she managed to pull the flimsy muslin into a more decorous covering, although she guessed she was still showing an inordinate amount of ankle.

  ‘I am afraid we cannot stop to make you more presentable,’ he told her. ‘We need to get away from here, out of sight of the road. They might yet come after us on foot.’

  ‘Very true.’ Natalya glanced nervously towards the road. ‘Let us get on, then.’

  ‘Very well.’ He settled her more firmly across the saddle. ‘Hold on tight!

  * * *

  Tristan pushed the hunter into a canter across the open field towards the trees on the far side. The green, unripe heads of corn brushed against his stirrups in a protesting hiss and, as a landowner himself,
he winced at the thought of the damage he was doing to the crop, but it could not be helped. He had to move quickly and put as much distance as he could between Natalya and her abductors. She clung to him, arms around his waist and her head resting against his chest. He very much wanted to hold her close, but he needed to concentrate, to keep a steadying hand on the reins lest the horse should stumble. He kept up the pace and it was not until they were sheltered within the trees, out of sight of the field and the road, that he allowed the horse to slow again to a walk.

  Immediately Natalya loosened her hold and sat up.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked her. ‘Do you need to stop?’

  ‘No, please, go on,’ she urged him. ‘It is not the most comfortable journey I have ever undertaken, but I shall do very well.’

  His heart went out to her for her brave attempt to make light of the situation.

  ‘I wish I could have brought a carriage for you, but there was no time.’

  ‘Why did you come after me?’ she asked him. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You had disappeared and your aunt was looking worried, but when I asked after you, she told me you had retired. I did not quite believe you would leave your own party, but I did not question it until my coachman told me he had seen a coach driving swiftly away from the mews.’ He decided only the truth would do. ‘I thought you had eloped with Freddie.’

  ‘But I had told you there was nothing between us!’ She gave a tiny gasp of indignation. ‘You did not believe me.’

  ‘I did believe you, once I had thought about it, only by that time I was back at George Street. I sent my servants to seek news of a carriage leaving Bath at speed while I went off to the livery stables. I apologise for not bringing another mount for you, but I knew I had to act quickly if I was to catch you and even the best of the other nags at the stable would have slowed me down.’

  ‘But why did you come alone?’ she asked him. ‘You might have been killed.’

  His heart swelled a little at the thought that she might care what happened to him.

  He said, ‘I did not want to risk a scandal by involving anyone I could not trust. I did not bring my groom with me to Bath and my valet cannot ride.’

  She gave a little choke of laughter.

  ‘What an oversight, my lord. You should be more particular in your choice of servant.’

  ‘Yes, I should.’ He grinned into the darkness, relieved that she could still joke with him.

  She shivered and looked nervously over his shoulder.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘A little. I wish I had brought a cloak with me, or at least that I had not left my gloves in the carriage. My hands are chilled.’

  Tristan unbuttoned his coat. ‘Put your arms around me, inside my jacket.’

  After a slight hesitation she did just that and his skin tingled at her touch, despite the layers of silk and linen between them. She raised her head suddenly.

  ‘Oh, dear, how long can the poor mare carry us both?’ she asked him doubtfully. ‘I am no lightweight.’

  Tristan laughed at that. He wanted to tell her that she weighed no more than feathers. That he would carry her himself, if necessary.

  ‘I am sure she is up to it, if we do not press her too hard. We will have to walk her until we can find a carriage. Or fresh horses.’

  Satisfied, she leaned against him again, her arms hugging him. Her dusky curls were tickling his chin and he was tempted to rest his cheek against them, even to drop a kiss on her head, but he resisted. The situation was already delicate, he must not make it worse.

  * * *

  Natalya held on, settling herself into the rhythm of the mare’s gait as Tristan guided the creature through the dark woods. She felt no fear, riding through the night with her cheek pressed against his chest. It was strangely comforting as if they were enclosed in a bubble where nothing could harm them. She was safe, for now, but the fear for the future still lurked and must be faced. The abduction, her uncle’s refusal to tell her anything of her history or what was in store. She could not help thinking she was a pawn in some game she did not understand.

  The horse stumbled and Tristan’s arm tightened around her.

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ His voice rumbled in his chest and against her cheek. ‘Were you sleeping?’

  ‘No.’

  She was tired now, but she did not want to sleep. She wanted to savour this moment for ever, not worried about the past, or the future, just breathing in his scent, a heady mixture of soap, wool and leather, plus something unmistakably male.

  They came eventually to a lane bordered by a straggly hedge dotted with trees. Tristan brought the hunter to a stop in the shadows. Natalya straightened, reluctantly ending the pleasant reverie and forcing herself to think of what was really happening. The cool night air cleared her brain and for the first time she was aware of how oddly Tristan was dressed. He had changed his silk knee breeches for buckskins and top boots, but beneath his riding jacket he still wore the white silk waistcoat and the intricately tied neckcloth with its diamond pin, which winked when he raised his head to study the sky, trying to work out their direction. Something twisted inside; he really had made haste to follow her.

  ‘Do you know where we are?’ she asked him.

  ‘No, but your abductors were carrying you towards the London road. I think we should head in the other direction.’ He pointed. ‘South.’

  ‘Very well. After all, this lane must lead somewhere.’

  She tried to sound cheerful, she knew as well as he that country lanes could meander for miles. She snuggled against him again and closed her eyes. She felt safe with this man. Her rescuer. Like a prince in a fairy tale.

  * * *

  Tristan paused for a moment, gazing down at the dainty figure in front of him. She trusted him to look after her. To keep her safe. He was at once shaken and flattered by her faith in him and prayed he would not fail her. His arms tightened around her and for a moment he did rest his cheek against her hair. A few white rosebuds still nestled among the curls, cool as silk against his skin, and he caught a hint of their fragrance. Or perhaps that was just his imagination.

  Bah! You are turning into a romantic fool over this woman!

  Sitting up straight in the saddle, Tristan urged the mare onwards into the darkness.

  Chapter Eleven

  The first pale streaks of dawn lined the horizon when they came to a crossroads. Ahead of them a wall built of smooth Ham stone stretched alongside the lane.

  ‘This is promising,’ Tristan remarked. ‘There looks to be a park on the other side. Let us hope we find a gate lodge soon. Hold on.’

  Natalya had been dozing but she clung tighter to Tristan as he put the horse to the trot. Although they did not come upon an elegant entrance, they discovered a wooden gate across a cart track winding through the trees. The gate was unlocked and a bare half-mile later they found themselves at the service quarters of a substantial country property.

  Lights shone from a low building on one side of the yard. Natalya’s sigh was a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

  ‘The laundry, I suspect,’ murmured Tristan, urging the mare towards the open doorway. ‘They will be lighting the fires under the coppers to heat the water. Hello there!’

  A startled maid appeared, wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘Can you take us to the housekeeper?’ Tristan asked her. ‘I fear it is a little early to be disturbing the master or mistress.’

  The maid dropped a curtsy before setting off towards the back of the main house. When she disappeared inside, Tristan dismounted and reached up for Natalya.

  ‘Come along.’

  She slid down into his arms, but as her feet touched the ground, she realised that her limbs would not support her. Quickly she gripped his shoulders and Tristan’s arms came around her.

  ‘Ste
ady now.’

  She looked up to see him smiling at her. It was impossible not to smile back and when his arms tightened, her heart began to thud erratically. He was going to kiss her, she knew it, wanted it, most desperately, but she felt dizzy. There was a pain behind her eyes and darkness was pressing in. She could not see him clearly and, even as he lowered his head, everything went black.

  * * *

  Tristan had barely brushed her lips before he realised Natalya had fainted. He swept her up into his arms and was still looking down at her when the maid reappeared, followed by an elderly woman hastily securing the ties of a voluminous dressing gown around her ample person.

  ‘Good morning, sir. I am Mrs Sturry, the housekeeper—’ She broke off, her eyes widening at the sight of them.

  Tristan realised how it must look, a lady in a tattered and besmirched white ballgown, lifeless in the arms of a hatless gentleman.

  ‘There has been an accident...’

  He trailed off, cursing the inadequacy of the words, but they were sufficient. The housekeeper clucked around them like a mother hen and begged him to bring his lady indoors. She sent the maid running ahead of her to carry the lamp and light the way. Tristan followed them up the stairs to a guest room where the housekeeper directed him to put his burden down upon the bed.

  ‘Oh, dear, oh, my,’ she muttered as she went around the room, lighting the candles. ‘I did not expect this and Sir Toby and Lady Farnell gone to London, too! But they would not want me to shirk my duty as a Christian towards travellers in need, I am sure.’

  Tristan sat on the edge of the bed, gently removing Natalya’s white-kid slippers while the housekeeper babbled on. He only stopped her when she said she would send for the doctor to attend the young lady.

  ‘Thank you, but that will not necessary. She has merely fainted from shock and fatigue.’

  He took Natalya’s hand, felt the steady pulse in her wrist, confirming his suspicion. Not for the world would he risk her health, but neither did he want to announce their presence to the wider world in case her abductors should hear of it.