Miss Antiqua's Adventure Read online

  As she talked, the maid deftly arranged Antiqua’s hair into a becoming series of ringlets beside her face. “There’s little to tell, Miss. ’Twere nothin’ and no one on that road I took. All that walkin’ for nothin’,” she grumbled in disgust. “Why, there’s a blister the size of a crown-piece on my foot!”

  Antiqua gave Lucy’s hand a sympathetic pat. “How did you come to meet Vincent?”

  “I was awalkin’ along, frettin’ myself sick over you, Miss, when I heard the thunderous rush of horses behind me. Well, I liked to faint when I turned and saw him bearing down on me, lookin’ for all the world like the devil ridin’ out o’ hell.”

  “Vincent?” As Lucy nodded an affirmation, Antiqua twisted to face her. “Why didn’t you run from him?”

  Lucy pushed her mistress firmly around and applied her brush with renewed vigor. “Now be reasonable, Miss Antiqua, do! He swooped down on me afore I could so much as breathe. I’d half thought to tell him as how I’d got lost and didn’t know where you could be, but as soon as I clapped eyes on his face, that notion flew clear out of my head. He was in a right rage, with his lips so tightly set, they’d fair turned white! ‘Where’s your mistress?’ he raps out to me, and I ups and tells him without so much as a murmur.” Her hairdressing finished, Lucy wagged the brush at Antiqua. “And so would have you, Miss, and that’s a fact!”

  Antiqua spun around again and prodded, “So?”

  “So he ordered Fawkes to take me up on his horse and the two of us rode off to collect his chaise. I gave Mr. Vincent the general lay o’ where I’d left you and when we arrived on the road past Pleasance some three or so hours later, he was awaitin’ us, with some of the grimness gone from his face. And, o’ course, you know the rest.”

  “You mean to say he found me and waited alone with me?”

  “Yes, Miss. He’d been so fortunate as to find your hat and then your shoe and was awatchin’ over you from the edge of the field as you slept, like.”

  A thoughtful frown turned down the corners of Antiqua’s mouth. At the end of several minutes, she said on a peevish note, “But I don’t understand it! Why would he shoot at me, then do nothing at all when given the most perfect opportunity?”

  “Shoot at you!” Lucy scoffed. “Why, Miss, he never did any such thing!”

  “But who else would have the least reason to do so? I tell you, Lucy, it must have been Vincent! We know he murdered Thomas Allen for the sake of what now lies in that muff,” she said, pointing to the fur lying on a nearby chair. “And he must have tried to murder me for the same reason.”

  “Now that, Miss Antiqua, is just what I can’t believe. If you’d but have seen the look in his eye when I told him you was alyin’ in that field!”

  “Oh, but Lucy, don’t you see,” Antiqua broke in. “A spy must be very practiced in the art of deceit!”

  Lucy’s mouth was mulishly set. “You may believe as however you’re wishful to, Miss, but spy or no spy, that man never fired those shots and so I’ll be bound.”

  Antiqua gave up the argument. She seemed little more capable of convincing Lucy to mislike Jack Vincent than of convincing her own heart to do so. Still, it was an argument that was to plague her for many a day to come.

  Chapter 10

  Frustration figured largely in Antiqua’s emotions for the next several hours. Having conceived the notion of cleverly taxing Vincent with his movements of the previous day, she greeted with disappointment the knowledge that only she and Lucy were to occupy the chaise while the gentlemen rode beside the coach.

  For five full hours she had nothing but her thoughts to occupy her. As these tended to center on the complexity of Jack Vincent, her restless discontent deepened. She found it increasingly unbearable to think of him as her enemy. It was even more unbearable to consider why she felt this way, so she focused instead on his high-handed manner in carrying her off. He had no right to use her so abominably and so she determined to tell him at the first opportunity. But as Vincent put in no appearance during either of the first two stops to change post-horses, she sank deep into a stew of frustration which grew with each turn of the carriage wheels.

  Just when Antiqua knew to a precise number how many times Lucy would snore in a given hour, they rolled into another small innyard. It was now well into the afternoon and her tedium had expanded into a mood of extreme ill-humor. Her ankle had been aching painfully for the last hour and she felt perfectly ready to scream from the stifling monotony within the chaise. Thus, when the door was jerked open, Antiqua met Fawkes’s kind inquiry if Miss would be wishful to partake of a bite of luncheon with a snapped consent.

  She was transported into yet another private parlor. She decided that all inns were depressingly alike, with nothing whatsoever to recommend one from another. Lucy set Antiqua’s injured foot upon an elaborately worked stool and left her to indulge in her sulks alone. She first pictured herself meeting Vincent with a lofty disdain, then thought perhaps she would do better to show him how truly civilized she was by greeting him with condescending graciousness. This resolve faded after five minutes, by the end of which time she was seething over Vincent’s despicable display of bad manners. Her ill-temper was exacerbated when, after ten minutes, only a servant appeared to cover the table with Vincent’s own linens and dishes, seemingly unaware of the scowls directed toward him as he did so.

  When Vincent at last entered the small and sparsely furnished apartment, he was met by a stormy face and a roomful of haughty silence. He apparently did not notice this frosty reception, for he moved easily to take his seat at the table opposite the irate lady. With a wave, he directed the poker-faced footman to begin serving.

  The fact that his casual riding breeches became him extremely only fueled Antiqua’s simmering hostility. Though the beige doeskin advertised the strength of his muscular legs, she told herself that the mirrored gleam of his high-top boots was conclusive confirmation that he was nothing but a fop. The chocolate brown riding jacket was cut so very well as to be thought by most a credit to Weston’s tailoring, but to her affronted view this was only another black mark against the gentleman. She clasped her hands in the lap of her pleated rose percale gown and refused to be affected by his handsome appearance.

  While being served, Vincent said little beyond desiring to know if Miss Greybill would like another roll or some butter perhaps, to which he received only the tersest of responses. Upon the last of the silent meal being cleared from the table, he sent for a final mug of ale. Before the servant could depart on this errand, Antiqua raised her gaze from contemplation of the lace tablecloth to icily beg the man to bring her a glass of wine as well.

  Hesitating, the footman looked to his employer, vexing the young lady to no little degree. A smile hovered on Vincent’s lips as he countered with, “Ratafia.”

  “What I desire,” Antiqua said, opening hostilities, “is a glass of sherry.”

  “Ratafia,” Vincent repeated, and waved the servant away.

  “You have no right to countermand my wishes,” she snapped upon the closing of the door.

  “I believe, my dear, that paying the shot gives me some right in the ordering,” he returned in a tranquil tone.

  He was as patently amused as Antiqua was annoyed. Perceiving this, she subsided into an insulted silence. It was of short duration, however, for within moments she was leaning toward him, having decided to change tactics.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Have you not heard,” he drawled in reply, “about curiosity and the—”

  “I am not a cat!” she said with real exasperation. “And I have a right to know where I am being taken. Why, you are no better than an abductor and if you do not tell me now, I shall tell the landlord here that you are forcing me to go with you against my will. He shall send for the parish constable, then you shall be sorry!”

  “I thought—forgive me, perhaps I did not understand—that I did not abduct you, but that you asked to come with me.”

&nb
sp; “Yes, but that was only to Dover,” she conceded. “Now you are coercing me, taking me only heaven knows where. And that is against the law.”

  “Then by all means, Brown-eyes, send for the landlord,” Vincent said, unperturbed.

  The footman re-entered just then and Antiqua imperiously ordered him to please inform the innkeeper he was desired at once. She did not take her gaze from Vincent’s cool face; she saw him nod slightly as the ale and ratafia were placed before them. She smiled with triumph and sipped at her cherry flavored cordial.

  An instant later a tap preceded the bustling entrance of an elderly besmocked gentleman who wore a worried frown that further creased his generously wrinkled brow.

  “Forgive me, sir,” he said to Vincent. “Was there something wrong with the luncheon? I told my wife as how she ought not have cooked the beef overlong, but—”

  “I sent for you,” Antiqua cut in impatiently. “I want you to send for the local magistrate or the parish constable, if you please. At once!”

  The landlord’s bewildered gaze moved from the impassive blue eyes of the gentleman to the angry brown of the lady. He well knew the ways of the quality to be strange, but he had never met with a request such as this. “Well, I don’t know as how—”

  “This man is abducting me!” she accused with heat.

  Her dramatic announcement was received with doubtful dismay. The innkeeper’s gaze swung from the miss to the man and back again. He cleared his throat nervously, “Well, now, miss—”

  “I believe you should perhaps be aware that my young sister is being unwillingly conveyed back to the seminary from which she has run away,” Vincent explained with the manner of a complacent elder toward a mischievous youngster.

  An outraged gasp led to an immediate denial. “That is not true! I am not a schoolgirl!”

  If anything had been needed to convince the innkeeper one way or the other, it was this denial. It was most obvious to him that the young lady was indeed a schoolroom miss. “Ah, sir, ’tis merely her high spirits, eh?” he said with a grin, much to Antiqua’s wrath.

  “She is unfortunately given to high drama, but we trust she shall outgrow this with time,” Vincent said.

  “Most likely, sir, most likely. In a year or two your sister will—”

  “Stop discussing me as if I’m not here!” she broke in violently. “He is not my brother—I am an only child and both of my parents are dead—and I did not run away from school! I have not the least idea where this man is taking me and I demand you call for a justice!”

  She looked and sounded quite desperate. A visible flash of doubt crossed over the landlord’s features and Vincent decided it was past time to settle the matter.

  “Of course,” he said in a voice of utter ennui, “it’s a habit of mine to abduct tiresome children with their maids while in the midst of a half-dozen of my own servants.”

  The landlord’s hearty chuckle admitted the ridiculousness of this vision and Antiqua flushed with anger. “I am not—”

  “A child. Very well, Antiqua, if you are not, then please quit behaving as one,” Vincent interrupted, sounding precisely like one’s elder brother.

  “Ah, sir,” the innkeeper said with sympathy, “’tis true my own daughter was much the same at that very age.” With an understanding smile, he bowed himself out of the room.

  Throwing Vincent a look that spoke volumes, Antiqua sat smoldering. Vincent took a long draught at his ale, studying her with an appreciative shine in his eyes. Setting down his mug, he said pacifically, “Come, my dear—”

  “I am not your dear!” she informed him in no uncertain terms. “What is more, I think it is perfectly horrid of you to tell that man such lies about me and to make him laugh at me.”

  It was plain Miss Greybill had no wish to be conciliating. Vincent regarded her for a time, then inquired in a tone of sleepy interest, “Tell me, Brown-eyes, what did you intend? To walk back to Dover? Ah, yes, your unfortunate accident. You intend, then, to hire a coach, perhaps?”

  “You need not sneer. You know very well I’m fully in your power and it is very like you to rub my face it.” For a flicker, she appeared daunted. Quickly reviving, she insisted, “The least you can do is tell me where we are going. And what you intend to do with me.”

  He lounged in his chair. “I thought, dearheart, that I had made my intentions perfectly clear. As they are of nothing but the most honorable, I fail to see why you are sending me such dagger-looks.”

  She aimed to wipe that mocking smile off his face. “Because you are not at all the sort of man I wish to marry.”

  “Ah . . . then possibly you will enlighten me. What sort of man do you wish to marry.”

  “Someone like—like,” she floundered, not actually having desired to wed any man of her acquaintance. But she finished with inspiration, “Like the Viscount Balstone.”

  Her wish was fulfilled. His smile vanished and his blue eyes narrowed and sharpened, making her feel foolishly nervous. “And when, my dear, may I wish you happy?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she retorted. “I only desired you to know how far you are from being able to please me in that regard.”

  “To be viewed as unlike Balstone as possible is a great compliment,” he responded with infuriating calm. His eyes locked with hers as he continued in a hard tone, “I would, however, have you understand one thing. I will in no circumstances allow you to come into the keeping of Balstone—or any other like him. Now or at any other time.”

  Antiqua drew in her breath at the hint of menace in his voice. Here again was irrefutable evidence that the Viscount was Vincent’s sworn enemy. Now she wondered if this animosity had extended to Thomas Allen as well. One thing was for certain: Vincent did not mean to let her pass on her information to Balstone.

  After a perceptible pause, she said, “You have nothing whatsoever to say with regard to my marriage, sir. Again I ask, where are we going?”

  “I am taking you where I trust you’ll be kept out of mischief until our wedding,” he answered in his drowsy voice. He stood, placing her at a disadvantage. She looked up to meet his expression of arrogant authority. “If you’ve finished your wine, my love, I suggest we end this delightful discussion.”

  He stepped forward, preparing to take her into his arms. Antiqua did not stop to think. The mockery in his eyes, his tone, his very manner goaded her beyond reason. She grasped the stem of her full wineglass and tossed the contents into his face.

  Startled, he straightened and Antiqua flinched under the fulmination of his blazing blue eyes. For a dire moment, she feared she had gone beyond the line, but the naked fury slowly passed out of his eyes. With supreme self-control, Vincent removed a large square handkerchief from his pocket and calmly wiped the dripping wine from his face and jacket. Antiqua’s gaze fixed in horror on the stains showing clearly on his white cravat. She tried to speak, but found she could not. Her wrath had evaporated with her action and in its place she now felt deep compunction.

  “Forgive me,” she whispered tremulously. “I didn’t mean—”

  “What you need,” he remarked very softly, “is either a tremendous spanking . . . or this—”

  In one swift motion, he seized her, pulling her up into his arms. His lips fiercely entrapped hers, stifling her protests, taking possession with heated intensity. She could not breathe nor even think, but only surrender herself to the series of delirious tremors coursing through her. The arms encircling her pressed tighter and tighter until she thought she must snap within his hold. His muscled chest crushed the softness of her breasts and still he scorched her with his tongue, his lips.

  She heard a distant moan, uncertain if it came from herself or from him. Then, as suddenly as he had swept her up, he dropped her back into her chair. Without another word, Vincent spun on his heel and left her.

  Her breath was still ragged, her mind still reeling when but a minute later Fawkes entered to carry her out to the chaise. She barely noticed when he lifted
her, she did not see his lowered brows, his disapproving glare. Antiqua’s gaze was turned inward, seeing only her own response to Vincent’s punitive assault. To her shame, she knew that in the instant of his kiss, she would gladly have given up kith and kin, king and country for him. For a coldly calculating traitor. She knew she would have to summon up every reserve of willpower to refrain from loving him. The knowledge lowered her spirits further still.

  * * * *

  As the miles stretched out, so too did Antiqua’s nerves. Wondering in earnest where he could be taking her, Vincent’s declaration to keep her out of mischief until their wedding now loomed before her as a threat of evil proportions. Perhaps, she thought with mounting panic, like the villains in all the Minerva Novels she had read, he meant to lock her away in some secret tower. No opportunity for calming her unreasoning fright came, for their few stops lasted only long enough to effect a change of horses and Vincent never drew near.

  Over the hours, she indulged her imagination until Vincent assumed alarming characteristics. She feared he would carry through his threat to marry her. Then she feared he would not, but would merely use her, and discard her as coolly as he had discarded his stained handkerchief.

  The sun had gone down long before they reached the outskirts of London. The noisy traffic on the London streets slowed their progress to such a pace that when the carriage finally drew to a halt, she did not at first realize it. Feeling alone in her darkened corner with her disturbing thoughts, Antiqua had reached a pitch of mental turmoil which utterly precluded rationality. When she looked out the small window to see an ill-lit townhouse towering above the street, her terrors swelled and she barely smothered a scream.

  Wrenching open the door, Vincent nimbly entered and reached for her.

  “No!” she gasped, shrinking into the seat.

  “My God, what new start is this?” he muttered in weary exasperation. “I’d think you’d be as eager as I to end this journey.”