Miss Winthorpe's Elopement Read Online Free Page B

Adam. Perhaps it would be best to leave off the brandy for a time.’
    ‘You said I could have all I wanted. And so I shall.’ But there was no anger as he said it. ‘Your hand, madam.’ He took her left hand and slipped something on to the ring finger, then reached for the pen.
    She glanced down. The smith had twisted a horseshoe nail into a crude semblance of a ring, and her hand was heavily weighted with it. Further proof that she had truly been to Scotland, since the X of the smith held no real meaning.
    Adam signed with a flourish, beside her own name. ‘We need to seal it as well. Makes it look more official.’ He snatched the candle from the table and dripped a clot of the grease at the bottom of the paper, and pulled out his watch fob, which held a heavy gold seal. ‘There. As good as anything in Parliament.’ He grinned down at the paper and tipped the flask up for another drink.
    She stared at the elegant signature above the wax. ‘Adam Felkirk, Duke of Bellston.’
    ‘At your service, madam.’ He bowed deeply, and the weight of his own head overbalanced him. Then he pitched forward, striking his head on the corner of the table, to fall unconscious at her feet.

Chapter Three
    A dam regained consciousness, slowly. It was a mercy, judging by the way he felt when he moved his head. He remembered whisky. A lot of whisky. Followed by brandy, which was even more foolish. And his brain and body remembered it as well, and were punishing him for the consumption. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry as cotton, and his eyes felt full of sand.
    He moved slightly. He could feel bruises on his body. He reached up and probed the knot forming on his temple. From a fall.
    And there had been another fall. In the coach yard.
    Damn it. He was alive.
    He closed his eyes again. If he’d have thought it through, he’d have recognised his mistake. Carriages were slowing down when they reached the inn yard. The one he’d stepped in front of had been able to stop in time to avoid hitting him.
    ‘Waking up, I see.’
    Adam raised his head and squinted into the unfamiliar room at the man sitting beside the bed. ‘Who the devil are you?’
    The man was at least twenty years his senior, but unbent by age, and powerfully built. He was dressed as a servant, but showed no subservience, for he did not answer the question. ‘How much do you remember of yesterday, your Grace?’
    ‘I remember falling down in front of an inn.’
    ‘I see.’ The man said nothing more.
    ‘Would you care to enlighten me? Or am I to play yes and no, until I can suss out the details?’
    ‘The carriage you stepped in front of belonged to my mistress.’
    ‘I apologise,’ he said, not feeling the least bit sorry. ‘I hope she was not unduly upset.’
    ‘On the contrary. She considered it a most fortunate circumstance. And I assure you, you were conscious enough to agree to what she suggested, even if you do not remember it. We did not learn your identity until you’d signed the licence.’
    ‘Licence?’
    ‘You travelled north with us, your Grace. To Scotland.’
    ‘Why the devil would I do that?’ Adam lowered his voice, for the volume of his own words made the pounding in his skull more violent.
    ‘You went to Gretna, to a blacksmith.’
    He shook his head, and realised immediately that ithad been a mistake to try such drastic movement. He remained perfectly still and attempted another answer. ‘It sounds almost as if you are describing an elopement. Did I stand in witness for someone?’
    The servant held the paper before him, and he could see his shaky signature at the bottom, sealed with his fob and a dab of what appeared to be candle wax. Adam lunged for it, and the servant stepped out of the way.
    His guts heaved at the sudden movement, leaving him panting and sweating as he waited for the rocking world to subside.
    ‘Who?’ he croaked.
    ‘Is your wife?’ completed the servant.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Penelope Winthorpe. She is a