Scandal Becomes Her. Shirlee Busbee

had been weak and unwilling to face the loss of his fortune. “Play or pay” was his motto and if the boy couldn’t stand the nonsense, then he shouldn’t have played…Tynedale smiled. Especially since the dice were loaded. It was a pity what had happened and he’d admit that if he had known that the boy would take such final and drastic action, that he might not have completely ruined him. But his own needs had come first and he had needed the Weston fortune to bring himself about. And I should have followed my first instincts, he thought grimly, and with the Weston fortune at my fingertips, put my own affairs in order. He sighed for the lost chance. But once a gambler, always a gambler, and he had been convinced that his luck had finally turned. With an ill-gotten fortune to back him, he was positive that he could recoup all of his former losses. If one fortune was nice, two would be even nicer. With that thought guiding him he had continued his reckless gaming and whoring. It wasn’t until he had discovered himself once again on the verge of ruin a few months ago that he had begun to cast around for a way out of his difficulties. Marriage to an heiress seemed the only answer.

      He glanced again at Nell’s set face. Yes. Marriage to an heiress was the simplest solution. And Eleanor Anslowe suited him. She knew the ways of the world and having reached her majority, her fortune was hers to command—his, once they were married. Sir Edward might puff and rail, but there was nothing that he would be able to do. Once Nell was married to him, all his worries would be over.

      Her courage waning with every mile that took them farther from London, Nell stared out into the night. She was exhausted. Fright had taken its toll and her leg was aching unbearably. But she was not beaten and she was not going to make Tynedale’s task easy for him. She had a fair idea what he had planned and she knew, with a sinking feeling, that she would not be able to prevent him from raping her. She swore to herself that even if he succeeded in his evil plans and she had to hide her face in shame for the rest of her life, she was not going to marry him! She took a deep breath. She would get away from him. Somehow.

      Since it was unlikely her screams had been heard or that she would be missed until the morning, her escape was going to have to be of her own devising. She looked out at the rain-drenched countryside revealed in the flashes of lightning. She had no idea how far they had traveled from London and in the darkness everything looked different, anyway. She doubted that Tynedale was going to stop soon, but she determined that when he did finally pull the horses to a halt that it would be then that her best chance for escape would present itself. And if there were other people around so much the better. She wasn’t a bit averse to revealing his perfidy.

      Nell’s chance came sooner than she expected. A jagged bolt of lightning streaked across the night sky and struck the ground less than fifty feet in front of the racing horses. The very ground seemed to shake and the carriage shuddered. The gigantic flash was followed by a boom of thunder that sounded like the end of the world was at hand. The horses screamed and reared and fought Tynedale’s nervous jerk on the reins. One horse slid on the muddy road and became tangled in the traces; the other was plunging and rearing, fighting to escape. Tynedale could not regain control and the curricle was dragged off the slick road. As the vehicle lurched drunkenly into a ditch at the side of the road, the nearside horse broke free and galloped off into the darkness.

      Nell was almost thrown from the curricle by the accident, but she managed to stay inside the vehicle. Tynedale was not so lucky. The jolt and plunging of the curricle pitched him into the ditch.

      Cursing, he climbed to his feet. Clutching his shoulder, he surveyed the damage. In the midst of one of the worst storms he’d ever seen, one horse was gone, the vehicle was mired in a muddy ditch and if he wasn’t much mistaken he had broken his collarbone. The night could not get much worse.

      But it could. Nell hesitated not a moment. The instant the curricle came to a rest, ignoring her throbbing leg, she scrambled down from the vehicle and stumbled for the protection of the trees that edged this section of the road. She heard Tynedale’s shout behind her but the sound only added wings to her flying feet.

      The trees enveloped her and she gave fervent thanks for the night and the storm. Heedless of the branches that whipped at her and the debris that tangled around her feet she plunged forward, deeper and deeper into the concealing forest. Tynedale’s cloak impeded her progress, but she dared not throw it aside—her white nightgown would be a beacon for him—if he was following. She stopped once, listening intently, but beyond the furious howl of the storm, she heard nothing but the frantic beating of her heart and her own labored breathing. She smiled suddenly. She had no idea where she was; she was cold and sodden and frightened, but, by God, she had gotten away from him!

      Chapter 3

      Nell stood under the branches of an oak tree for several more moments, catching her breath and planning her next step. The fury of the storm had not abated and she was aware of the danger of lingering beneath the tallest object in the area.

      Pulling the cloak up over her head to shield herself from the worst of the rain, she left her shelter and began the arduous task of finding her way out of the rain-slick forest. It was not easy; she fell to her knees many times, sliding on the slippery branches and brush beneath her bare feet. The rain and the lightning and the booming crash of thunder overhead did not help matters. Nor did the utter blackness of the night and the wind that howled through the treetops.

      Time was suspended and Nell lost all sense of direction. Now and then as she fought her way through the darkness, she had the eerie feeling that she was trudging in circles and she feared that she would walk right into Tynedale’s arms. Her first burst of euphoria at having escaped from him had vanished long ago, and as the minutes played out and she grew wetter and more exhausted and her leg began to ache and drag, she almost hoped that she would stumble into him. Almost.

      Thunder rolled overhead and a second later, right in front of her, a bolt of lightning slashed through the darkness. The strike was so close Nell was knocked to the ground. Several minutes later, dazed and shaken but unhurt, she scrambled to her feet. More importantly, in that blinding flash of light her disbelieving eyes had spied a cottage or hut a few hundred yards in front of her.

      Hope surging through her, she half-stumbled, half-ran toward the promise of shelter. Another blaze of lightning revealed that she had not been mistaken and, her breathing ragged and labored, she fought her way to the small building that sat in the open, a few yards from the forest.

      It was indeed a cottage and relief poured through her. She was safe! Help was at hand. But with a sinking heart she became aware that there was no welcoming candlelight flickering in the tiny windows and no sign or sound of human habitation. Suppressing a sob, she sagged against the wooden door-jamb, disappointment knifing through her as she realized that the dwelling was abandoned and deserted.

      But at least the place offered shelter and, gathering the last of her strength, she pushed open the door. The door gave way easily and another streak of lightning revealed that there was nothing to steal or pilfer beyond a scarred table, three or four rickety chairs and a bed of rushes against the wall.

      Despite the rubble on the floor, leaves, branches and the worthless debris left behind by its previous inhabitants, the interior looked like a palace to Nell as she stepped inside and out of the bruising storm. Relying on the lightning bursts, she explored her domain on unsteady feet.

      The place was small, consisting of just two rooms, the one she had first entered and one other. There was a rough stone fireplace and some old faggots resting on the hearth, but they did her little good—she had no way of starting a fire.

      Having completed her survey, she dragged herself back to one of the dirty windows and looked outside. She glimpsed a wide, muddy expanse of road through the rain and lightning and guessed that she had stumbled upon an abandoned toll keeper’s cottage. Travelers would once have had to pay a toll to travel this portion of the road, but no longer, and hadn’t for some time, if the condition of the cottage was anything to judge.

      At the moment none of that mattered to Nell, she was simply grateful to be out of the storm and free of Tynedale. Feeling battered and exhausted, too worn out to think beyond the next second, she wrapped her damp cloak around her slim form and somewhat gingerly made herself comfortable