Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin
Chapter Nineteen
He was riding hellbent for leather, chasing down a woman who would surely be the death of him. Nicholas Montford, Lord Highcliff, was a man on a mission. How, he wondered, even as the horse’s hooves thundered beneath him, could she be so foolish? If ever there was a woman who ought to understand the dangers of traveling alone, it was her. Wasn’t that how they’d met after all? He’d come upon her after her carriage had been halted by brigands intent on robbing her and divesting her of her virtue. Of course, she’d flouted their plans quite soundly, but that didn’t mean she would be so lucky every time.
From the very moment he’d received the missive from Lady Seaburn and Lady Deveril requesting his presence, he’d known it would be nothing but trouble. Were they ever anything else? But as the whole ridiculous tale had spilled out of them, that their esteemed former teacher, Miss Euphemia Darrow, had taken off entirely on her own, aboard a mail coach, no less, to track down one of her students who—well, he drew a blank. At that point, he’d been so overwhelmed with visions of Effie lying dead on the roadside from a carriage accident, or worse, shot by brigands who’d held up the mail coach, he’d stopped listening to them. He didn’t know precisely what sort of turmoil Miss Upchurch was in.
He’d ushered them out the door of the tea shop, gone home, had his mount saddled and taken off after her, even though he’d sworn the last time they’d met that she would never set eyes on him again. Now, he was eating those words and that was her fault, as well.
He could throttle her! How could she be so reckless and so foolish? It would serve her right if he didn’t come to the rescue, he thought. Of course, they both knew that would never happen. He’d cut off his own arm before he’d ever let harm come to her, but this—this was just going too far.
It seemed all he did with his life anymore was rescue Effie, her wayward students, or procure special licenses for other people to marry. Fine way for a master spy to end up.
Up ahead, he saw a coaching inn tucked into a bend in the road. He also saw the mail coach easing into the inn yard from the road, no doubt to swap out horses again. The occupants would be ushered inside to utilize the facilities, of course. It was the perfect opportunity to confront her and to escort her straight back to London where she could remain safely inside her school while he located her errant pupil. But first, she’d get a piece of his mind.
*
Effie was onthe mail coach. She’d packed only one bag and held it firmly on her lap as they rocked out of London at a speed that made her stomach churn. She’d not been able to shake the feeling, from the arrival of Sophie’s letter, that something was terribly amiss.
They hit a particularly nasty rut in the road. The coach swayed, all of its occupants bumping against one another. And then it began to slow.
“We are stopping?” Effie asked.
“Never been on the mail coach ’afore?” the woman next to her asked, her gaze roaming over Effie’s finely stitched traveling dress.
“No,” Effie admitted.
“Stop every ten miles or so to change horses. They’re fast, but like to make your head spin with all the stops and starts,” the woman stated, then cackled revealing an utter lack of teeth.
“Oh,” Effie said. “Will we get out at each location, then?” She hadn’t planned for such. Surely they would not be unsavory locations.
“You can get out, but I wouldn’t go far. Won’t wait for you if you wander off,” the woman replied. “Most just make use of facilities and then hop back on quick like.”
“Right,” Effie said.
Still, when the coach rolled to a stop in the inn yard and the occupants disembarked, Effie was in their number. She remained outside in the inn yard, walking, stretching her legs and waiting for some indication that the coach was ready to board again. Still, the center of the yard was terribly muddy and so she stuck to the outer edges where the earth was slightly more firmly packed and less likely to soil her skirts.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about the mud if you were at home, in Mayfair, where you belong.”
Effie thought at first it was a product of her own mind. She longed for his presence so, missed the bite of his wit and the sharp repartee that was so much a part of who he was, that hearing his voice in her head seemed far more logical than the possibility of him actually being there. But he didn’t sound bored or slightly amused. He sounded angry, and that was her first clue that Highcliff was, in fact, right there with her.
Spinning around, she faced him, noting one dark brow arched in challenge and his jaw clenched with quiet fury. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you speaking to me again? I seem to recall our last exchange where you said I’d never set eyes on you again.”
He stepped forward then, his eyes glittering with anger. “Well that was before you decided to be suicidally stupid. Do you have any idea what could happen to you? A woman traveling alone?”
“I’m not alone. There are other passengers aboard the mail coach. And once I retrieve Sophie, she and I will be traveling together, which is more than proper,” Effie stated. “And forgive me for saying so, but I do not see that it is of any particular concern to you. You’ve made your lack of regard perfectly clear.”
“My lack of regard? Is it a lack of regard that had me haring after you when you’ve clearly no sense at all as it pertains to your own safety?” he snapped at her. “If you’re referring to our last meeting, it was the depth of my regard for you which prompted my refusal! Not the lack.”
Effie started to answer, but then she glanced around her. The other occupants of the mail coach, even the driver and the outriders, had all gathered round and were watching the exchange with rapt attention. “You are making a scene.”
“I’ll make a bigger one still if you attempt to get back into that coach,” he warned.
“Then what would you have me do?”
“I’ll hire a coach and escort you back to London myself,” he stated.
“And Sophie? I cannot, my lord. I must go after her,” Effie was adamant. She would not allow one of her students, a girl she had brought up, to simply be abandoned to whatever fate the world had in store for her.
His eyes darkened. “My lord? When have you ever addressed me so?”
“When you made the choice for us both that we should be little better than strangers to one another,” Effie answered. “I do not answer to you. I will not be cowed or bullied by you either.”
“I will go to your father,” he threatened.
It wasn’t an idle threat. He would and they both knew it. And at present, her relationship with her father was strained enough that it might prompt him to break with her entirely. “So be it. I live by my own conscience and, at present, it demands I find my charge and see her to safety,” Effie answered.
“Dammit, Effie! You can’t go running off to Southampton by yourself!”
“What I do, and whom I do it with, are not your affair, Lord Highcliff. Now, please, the coach has a schedule to keep and I will not be the reason it is delayed,” she stated imperiously and moved to sail past him. But he reached out, one hand snaking about her upper arm to halt her progress.
“No.”
She turned her head then, her stare glacial. “No?”
“No,” he stated just as emphatically as before.
A small smile tugged at the corner of Effie’s lips. Then she brought her booted foot up and kicked out sharply, catching the side of his knee, sending him sinking to the ground. Then she wheeled round, smacked the heel of her hand into his nose, and while he knelt there in the dirt, bleeding, she walked away.
Her triumph was short-lived. She hadn’t even made it halfway across the inn yard before he barreled into her, sweeping her up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour. She kicked and flailed to no avail, as he limped, with great purpose, toward the stables.
“Help me!” Effie called out to the woman who’d been seated beside her on the coach.
“A man like that wants to cart you off, Miss, the best help I can give you is to stay out of his way,” the woman answered with a cheeky grin, which she followed by a low whistle. “Wish I had one what could cart me off like that!”
“Don’t encourage h—oww!” Effie’s protest was interrupted by the sharp sting of a hard slap on her bottom. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What someone ought to have done a long time ago,” he stated. “You’ve had your head for entirely too long. It’s time, Euphemia Darrow, that someone else took the reins.”
