Chapter Eight

On waking, Mercy had felt horribly grimy but had been unable to do anything about it since the bedchamber didn't contain a washing bowl. Neither was there a mirror. In fact, the bed was the only piece of furniture in the room. There was, however, an old chamber pot situated under the bed for which she was particularly grateful, though she was uncomfortable at the thought of emptying it. She doubted the house contained a proper water closet, but wondered if there might be a privy of sorts. But then, given the age of the pot, she thought it unlikely.

In the end, once she'd seen to her needs, she'd pushed the pot back under the bed, straightened her hair using her fingers, brushed down her dress and finally stepped out into the shadowy hall.

She stood listening for a few seconds but could hear nothing - in fact, the silence was so absolute, it was unnerving. Suddenly disorientated, she walked slowly down the corridor towards a light which she hoped indicated the stairs. There were no pictures of any kind, and the wallcovering was so faded, she was unable to make out either the colour or the pattern.

After a few moments, she came to the top of the stairs and stared downwards, an unexpected sadness engulfing her. Clearly, the entrance hall had once been light and airy, but now the windows either side of the imposing front door were so grimy it was impossible to see anything through them. The chandelier hanging from the ominously sagging ceiling was cracked and coated in dust. Mercy shook her head as she picked her way carefully down the stairs. While she understood that Nate Harding hadn't got sixpence to scratch with, she was nevertheless surprised at the total lack of even the most basic repairs. The house was literally falling down around his ears, and he appeared to be doing nothing at all to stop it.

And yet the stable was in excellent repair.

On reaching the bottom, she hesitated. Should she retrace their steps from yesterday? There was still no sound of anyone else in the building, and if Ruby at least had been in the vicinity, Mercy had no doubt the dog would have heard her by now.

As she stood, Mercy abruptly became aware of the enormity of what she'd done. She was in a ramshackle old house with a complete stranger she knew absolutely nothing about – apart from the fact that he apparently had a title – which looking around her now, seemed more like a Banbury story.

Had she entirely overreacted? Spur of the moment actions were not Mercedes at all. Blunt, matter of fact, not given to wit and whimsy. That's how she'd be described by all who knew her. And yet she'd put herself in the hands of someone who could well turn out to be a madman – because of a story he'd told her.

She clenched her hands in sudden fear. Should she just collect her things and leave? Indecision engulfed her. She'd gone as far as taking a step back towards the stairs, when suddenly, the door to her left opened. Gasping in fright, she picked up her skirts to flee, just as the subject of her thoughts stepped through the door. He stopped on seeing her and they stared silently at each other.

‘I made up the fire,' he growled, indicating behind him. ‘The chimney's relatively clean, so it shouldn't smoke too much.'

Mercy looked past him into the room he'd just vacated. Aside from a cheerful fire burning in the hearth, the only furniture she could see were two winged chairs either side of the fireplace.

‘It's not much, but it's more comfortable than the kitchen,' he added gruffly as the silence lengthened. Mercy's gaze came back from the room to focus on him. After a moment, she nodded without moving. He seemed to understand her hesitation and his lips twisted as he stated, ‘You were planning to run.'

He hadn't phrased it as a question, but his stance indicated he wouldn't make any attempt to stop her.

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and stepped towards the door. ‘I was merely wondering which way I should go.' Walking past him into the room, she stared around her in surprise. It was a small sitting room, and unlike everything she'd seen of the house so far, this room was in good repair. The walls had been whitewashed and the floor polished to a high shine. It was possible to actually see through the window, and thick brocade curtains hung either side. While the two fireside chairs were clearly old, the leather had been carefully repaired and the cushions restuffed.

Glancing back, Mercy realised he hadn't moved, but was standing watching her. ‘You spend a lot of time in this room,' was all she could think of to say.

He shrugged. ‘Make yourself comfortable, I'll fetch you some tea. At her look of surprise, he gave a sudden grin which totally transformed his face. ‘I'm not a complete philistine.' Mercy didn't answer - couldn't answer. She was completely transfixed by the unexpected difference in his features. Dear God, he must have been handsome before the scar.

Before she managed to find a reply, he was gone, shutting the door softly behind him. Mercy's heart thudded erratically. She didn't feel at all like herself as she sat down on one of the chairs. Her whole body tingled. What the deuce was wrong with her?

She twisted her hands in her lap, trying to focus her mind on the problem at hand. She would be here no more than another day at the most. Her pocket watch told her it was early afternoon. Provided no more snow had fallen while she'd slept, her grandparents would be well on the way to Cottesmore by now, and once her father had been informed, she knew he would move heaven and earth to find her. Indeed, he might even arrive in the early hours. Unexpectedly, she was assailed by an absurd disappointment that this might be her only day here.

Mercy gritted her teeth. Carlingford Hall was entirely devoid of any comforts for pity's sake. Why on earth would she want to spend any more time in such a place? Nibbling on her fingernails, she tried to examine her feelings. She realised that for some absurd reason, she felt connected to Nathaniel Harding. Why, she couldn't even begin to say. His face was enough to provoke nightmares in any sensitive child, and perhaps because of that, he appeared to care for nothing and no one aside from his two four-legged companions.

But if what he'd told them last eve was true, he'd saved her from a fate worse than death. He could simply have left her to her fate, but instead, he'd warned her and offered his help. And despite her earlier fear that he'd made the whole story up, she didn't really believe that.

Her reverie was interrupted as the door reopened, this time, to admit Ruby who ran over in delighted abandon, rolling immediately on her back at Mercy's feet.

Laughing, Mercy bent down to stroke the wiry fur on the dog's belly.

‘She has no finesse, I'm afraid.' At Nate's deep tones, Mercy's head snapped up. In his hands, he carried a small tray with a dish of tea and a plate of … something – she couldn't quite see what from this angle. She remembered the lack of cooking facilities in the kitchen and wondered how the devil he'd managed to make tea. He placed the tray down on the top of the mantel and handed her a dish. ‘Be careful, it's hot,' he warned.

She frowned, taking the tea out of his hands and laying it on her lap, warming her fingers around the dish. ‘How did you manage to make the tea? I don't remember seeing a fireplace in the kitchen.'

‘It's in the scullery,' he answered, handing her a thick slice of bread liberally spread with honey. ‘Don't ask me why.'

Suddenly ravenous, she took the bread off him and took a large bite, relishing the sweetness as it hit the back of her throat. She watched him take another slice for himself, then to her surprise, he sat down in the chair opposite. For one bizarre second, she felt as though they were an old married couple. As he sat down, Ruby immediately abandoned her, and went to sit at her master's feet, gazing up at him adoringly.

‘It's not me she wants, it's the food,' he commented drily, breaking off a bit of bread and handing it to the terrier.

They were silent for a few moments until, at length, Nate leaned forward. ‘Your father…' he began. Her heart slammed inside her chest at the thought of what he might be about to say.

‘What about him?' she asked evenly.

Nate closed his eyes for a second, clearly thinking carefully about his next words. In the end, he sighed and simply said, ‘We are in the same house. Alone. Will he insist on me doing the honourable thing?'

Mercy coloured up. She had known this conversation would have to be had. ‘I think not,' she responded, putting the remnants of her tea on the floor for Ruby to finish off. ‘May I be blunt?'

‘Feel free.' Nate's response was wry.

Mercy took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps he would have done if you were a good marriage prospect. In truth, I think he will believe you exactly the opposite.'

‘Ouch,' Nate drawled, sitting back. ‘And he would be absolutely right, of course. So, what do you think he will do?'

‘I will of course assure him I have not been…' she hesitated, trying to find the right word…

‘Molested, abused, ravished, ill-treated?' he suggested helpfully. ‘I'm certain any or all will do.'

‘Just so,' she sighed, picking at her skirt. ‘It's my belief he will wish to keep the whole matter under wraps, so to speak. Though what he will do about the man who thought to abduct me, I cannot fathom…' She paused and frowned. ‘My father does not forget, and I doubt he will rest until the blackguard is found, though in truth, I would prefer to forget the whole matter.'

‘But what if he comes for you again?' Nate quizzed. ‘Above all, I'm certain your father will wish to ensure your safety, and to do that, he must see that Reinhardt is apprehended.'

‘Oh, I doubt the varmint will try again. I believe he was simply taking advantage of the moment.' Mercy's tone of voice was doubtful, despite her words of conviction. Nate knew she was trying to convince herself.' She twisted her fingers in her lap. ‘I will, of course, insist you are suitably recompensed for your trouble.'

Nate regarded her, his face impassive. For a second, her heart galloped as she wondered if she'd offended him. She had no idea what he was thinking. Then abruptly, he shrugged. ‘As you can see, I'm hardly in a position to refuse charity.'

‘It will not be charity,' Mercedes protested vehemently, too vehemently perhaps. ‘I could well be dead or worse if it hadn't been for you.'

He raised his eyebrows at her passionate defence of him. ‘The saga is not done yet. We have to hope that your companions reach the Earl safely, but even in the fastest carriage, that will not be until sunset. Is it likely that your father will act immediately? Will he believe the priest's version of events?'

‘The Reverend is my step-grandfather, so yes, I think he will…' She paused and couldn't suppress a grin at his look of disbelief. ‘My father married his daughter, Chastity.'

‘An earl wedding a vicar's daughter. You have an interesting family.'

This time Mercy laughed out loud, much to his bemusement. ‘Oh, you have no idea,' she chuckled, shaking her head.

Nate stared at her. It was the first time he'd seen her smile, and when she did, she was simply breathtaking. To his complete disbelief, he felt an unwelcome stirring. ‘You have an unusual name,' he observed, his voice gruff as he tried to get his cock under control. ‘Was your mother Spanish?'

Mercy sobered and nodded. ‘I never knew her. She died when I was young.' She offered no further information, saying instead, ‘I believe my father will not wait until morning before searching for me.'

‘Well, I doubt he will find it too difficult to uncover your whereabouts. I'm known in these parts, and...' He paused and gave a shrug, ‘I have a face most people remember.'

‘How did you get such a dreadful wound?' Mercy blurted the question she'd been wanting to ask since she first laid eyes on him. Then she winced and bit her lip. ‘I'm sorry, that was terribly rude of me.'

Nate gave a humourless grin, his fingers reflexively touching the scar on his cheek. ‘In truth, I'm surprised it's taken you this long to ask,' he commented ruefully after a second. She stared at him, and the compassion in her eyes nearly undid him. He didn't want her pity, God damn it.

‘I took a bayonet wound in France, he answered curtly. It was a long time ago.' His tone made it clear he would say nothing more and after a second, Mercy nodded.

‘So, should we expect your father before sunrise?' he commented instead.

Mercy frowned, then shrugged. ‘Before noon certainly.'

‘Would you care to make a wager on it?' he quipped, giving the same smile that had so captivated her earlier.

She cocked her head to one side. ‘Do you gamble often?'

Nate chuckled, not at all put out by her question. ‘I have nothing to play with. As I told you earlier, the only thing I own is this house, and I'm sure you'll agree that it's hardly a desirable wager, and besides…' He paused, then shrugged. ‘I care not where I end up, but I would not see my only two friends on the street.' He waved towards Ruby, currently curled up next to the fire.

‘So, I will wager the only thing I possess other than these four walls,' he continued flippantly, before rummaging around in the pocket of his breeches. Seconds later he pulled out a small box and opened it with a flourish. ‘The one and only trinket I ever purchased.'

From her seat, Mercy could see it was a small ring. Her gaze flew to his, but his expression gave nothing away. She bit her lip, wondering who he'd bought it for and why. Without taking her eyes from his, she touched the large gold locket lying in the hollow of her throat. ‘This came from my mother, so I will notrisk it on a gamble.' She thought for a second, then held up a hand to slide a ring off her finger. ‘This is my wager,' she declared, holding the band out.

‘That is not an even stake,' he murmured hoarsely, staring at the ruby studded ring. ‘I think it is,' she answered simply. ‘I think they were both purchased with the same sentiment.'

Nate gave a bark of laughter and shook his head. ‘I doubt it,' he chuckled, snapping the small box shut and tossing it onto the floor between them. ‘The person I bought it for many, many moons ago, took one disdainful look before declaring in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't even get out of bed for a stone smaller than a pigeon's head.'

***

Reinhardt had no choice but to begin packing. Despite extensive enquiries, no one had seen the chit leave. And the only other carriage hadn't departed until early afternoon. He was beginning to regret not questioning the priest, but still believed the risks had far outweighed any potential rewards.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. Why the hell hadn't he stuck with his original plan? Acting rashly never paid off – he of all people should have known that. Now, he'd alerted Stanhope not only to his presence in England, but to his intentions. What would have been a simple snatch had he waited until the chit was in London was now going to be so much more difficult.

But the discovery that Mercedes would be travelling alone but for two elderly chaperones had seemed too good an opportunity to miss. And when his informant in Cottesmore had learned that accommodation in the Black Swan had been arranged, Reinhardt had believed the abduction would be easy. Especially when he discovered there was even a damn preacher staying at the same inn. He could have wedded and bedded the bitch before Stanhope had known anything about it. Instead, he'd made a complete mull of the whole thing. Starting with his impulsive conversation with the bloody priest who'd turned out to be one of the elderly chaperones his source had mentioned.

Reinhardt threw the last of his clothes into his bag. He knew Stanhope would come for him and he needed to be long gone before the Earl got here. He'd revert back to his original plan to snatch her in London during the season.

Unless of course Stanhope decided not to attend.

Reinhardt swore savagely and fought the urge to throw something. His hands clenched and unclenched as his rage threatened to get the better of him. He didn't dare lose control now. He couldn't fail. If he did, he'd lose everything. He took a deep shuddering breath as the anger finally began to dissipate. Stanhope wouldn't cancel what was likely his daughter's final chance at making a good match. She was three seasons in and well on the way to being a permanent fixture in his house. His younger wife would almost certainly want to be rid of a tiresome stepdaughter.

No, Mercedes would have her season - Stanhope was arrogant enough to believe he could protect her. But no matter how vigilant, her father couldn't watch her every minute of every day, and that was exactly when he'd strike. By the time Stanhope got his head out of his arse, the two of them would be halfway across the Atlantic and well on the way to securing her mother's legacy. But for now, he needed to lay low. As soon as the priest mentioned his name, Stanhope would wait only until he was assured of his brat's safety before coming after the man he believed had murdered his child's mother.