Tempting Torment (The McClellans Series, Book 3) Author's Cut Edition Read online

  "Oh?"

  "I rode before I could walk." He paused. "We raise thoroughbreds. "

  Silent laughter made her shoulders shake and the infant she was cradling stirred in her arms. Her attention immediately turned from Noah as she bent her head over the child. The baby stretched awkwardly in the confining blankets and yawned in a disagreeable manner that boded ill for the other passengers. There was a collective sigh from everyone save Noah as the baby's face crinkled and a lusty cry emerged.

  The bored young lord looked to the roof of the coach and beyond, seeking deliverance from the common rabble. He cursed the card game that had put him in his current financial straits so that he was forced to travel among them. Raising a perfumed handkerchief to his lips momentarily, he looked appraisingly at Noah. "Thoroughbreds, you say? Racing stock?"

  "Mostly," Noah answered equably. "Although we don't limit ourselves. Draft horses are in demand, strong farming animals for the fields and pulling wagons."

  In spite of himself, the delicate-featured young man was interested. He fancied he was quite knowledgeable about horseflesh. "Then you're here to examine new bloodlines," he said confidently. "Refresh your stock. You might want to visit Worthing's stables. His animals are prime."

  Noah had no use for his lordship's condescending assumptions. "Actually," he drawled, "it has been my happy pleasure to deliver an Arabian stud to Lord Worthing. Now his animals are prime—or they soon will be."

  "Indeed," the fair-haired lord said, flushing with embarrassment. He turned away from Noah and addressed the widow. "Madam, can you not quiet your child?" he asked impatiently.

  The coach hit a rut in the road and tilted dangerously, compressing the passengers awkwardly, with their knees and elbows colliding. The baby's wail grew louder as he was squeezed protectively by his mother. The widow raised her eyes helplessly to his lordship. She lifted the child and patted its back soothingly. "I'm sorry, but there's little I..."

  Noah leaned forward again and held out his hands. "Let me." His offer was greeted with horror by every passenger save the widow. She merely looked at him skeptically. "I assure you, ma'am, no matter what you may have heard, we don't eat children in Virginia." When she still hesitated, he added without a hint of humor, "Although they're considered something of a delicacy in Massachusetts."

  Her laughing eyes belied the stern tone she adopted. "You're a terrible man, Mr...."

  "McClellan."

  "You're a terrible man, Mr. McClellan, but if you can calm my child I shall be in your debt." She lifted the baby toward him.

  "As will we all," the dour-faced farmer murmured under his breath.

  Noah took the child and laid him lengthwise along his lap so the baby was cradled by his thighs. Although he was concentrating on loosening the child's blankets, he was still seeing the widow's beautiful smile. Noah was glad no one could read his mind. He considered that he must be a rather reprehensible sort of character to have been so taken by that gentle curve of her mouth. Absolutely lacking in conscience, he thought, when one considered that she was in mourning and he had a fiancée waiting for him on the other side of the Atlantic. He felt like a young pup instead of a man of thirty-three years. Still, she had a smile that turned his heart over. "A name?" he asked.

  The widow was momentarily disconcerted, even troubled. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  Noah suppressed another grin, seeing that she had misunderstood him and thought he wanted to know her name. He must have seemed very forward to her.

  "I mean the baby," he said politely, trying to decide if he was holding a boy or a girl.

  There was a hint of relief in her winter gray eyes. "I call him Gideon."

  "Ahh," he said wisely. "Gideon. Called upon by the Lord to free His people. Rather an avenger, was Gideon."

  The widow gave a small start. "Yes, that's how I think of him. An avenger."

  Noah caught something in her voice, something pained, something angry. He had an urge to look at her again, see the face more clearly beneath the horrible bonnet. He held himself back, feeling that his interest in her was unseemly. He was forcibly reminded he was not alone as the coach swayed alarmingly as it met another rut. "Well, he certainly has the lungs for it, hasn't he?" This comment brought no response from anyone save Gideon, who continued to exercise the organs in question. Noah looked at the vicar. "Trumpet blowing, I mean. I'm thinking of the correct Bible story, aren't I?"

  The vicar's pursed mouth relaxed a little. "Yes, you're correct." His eyes were vague for a moment, then he quoted, "'When I blow the trumpet, I and all who are with me, then blow the trumpets also on every side of all the camp, and shout, 'For the Lord and for Gideon.'" He glanced at the child. "Judges, chapter 7," he told the passengers solemnly. "Old Testament. And he does have the lungs for it."

  Noah jiggled Gideon on his knees and tickled the baby's chin. Gideon continued to wail soulfully. Tears trickled from under the dark, spiky lashes of his tightly shut eyes. Noah wiped them away with one corner of the blanket. "Does anyone have any spirits?" he asked.

  The vicar stiffened. "You're not intending to give the child spirits, are you?"

  "I've got a flask." The offer came from the thick-shouldered tradesman who sat nearest the door. Until now he had been quiet, staring out the small coach window, wishing he were not rubbing elbows with quality. The young lord's perfume was stifling. Fop, he thought disgustedly. And no doubt his pockets were to let. Yet his lordship would stare down his aristocratic nose at the likes of himself and Mr. McClellan. The tradesman felt a sudden kinship with the American who had so neatly given the lord a set down—something he would not have had the nerve to do. He reached in the inner pocket of his greatcoat and retrieved a flask. "Here you are." He handed the flask to Noah, oblivious to the vicar's disapproving noises.

  "I think Gideon's too young for spirits," the widow ventured uneasily.

  The soldier was moved to say, "Never too young. Put a little hair on his chest." He sank back in his seat at the vicar's cold reproof.

  "I don't intend that he should drink the stuff," Noah said, stopping further comment. He poured a little of the whiskey on his fingertip and rubbed it on the baby's gums. Gideon was so surprised by this intrusion that he stopped crying almost immediately. His mouth closed greedily about Noah's finger and he blinked several times before he started sucking noisily. Noah withdrew his finger, applied a little more whiskey to it, and allowed Gideon to continue sucking. "He's cutting a tooth," Noah told Gideon's mother. "Two in fact. A few drops of spirits rubbed on the gums helps sometimes." He scooped Gideon into the crook of his left forearm, capped the flask, and put it in his vest pocket for future use. "Your young man has quite a ferocious grip." Noah felt the tips of his ears redden. She must know all about the fierce tugging of her son's mouth. He could imagine Gideon settling at her breast. With difficulty he banished the image and spoke quickly to cover his embarrassment. "How old is he?"

  "Nearly nine months."

  "He's a fine looking boy."

  "Yes, he is. You're quite at ease with him. You have children of your own?"

  "Oh, no," Noah said quickly. "I'm not married." He wondered why he didn't mention he was engaged, but he didn't, and the moment passed.

  "Then you're a physician," she said.

  "Don't be daft," his lordship interrupted rudely. "He says he raises horses."

  "Actually it's something of a family enterprise," Noah told him, giving him a quelling glance. In his arm, Gideon burbled contentedly. "I'm a lawyer... a barrister, you would call it. I merely delivered Lord Worthing's stud as a favor to my brother Gareth and my father. They are chiefly responsible for the success we have with the animals. I was coming to England anyway on other family business, so it seemed appropriate that I should handle everything." He gently dried the tracks of Gideon's tears and stroked the baby's cheek. Gideon kept his fascinated blue eyes on Noah's face. "In answer to your question," he said, addressing the widow. "I've had plenty of
experience with children because I have a dozen nieces and nephews."

  "How lovely for you," she said wistfully.

  Noah nodded agreeably, equally fascinated by Gideon's unwavering gaze. "It is, rather. Heaven knows I spoil the lot of them."

  "You must come from a large family yourself," the vicar said.

  "Not so large. Only five of us. Salem—that's short for Jerusalem—is the oldest. Then Gareth. I'm next, then my sisters Rahab and Leah."

  The vicar was pleased by the Biblical names. Perhaps there was something to recommend this young man after all. "And your Christian name?"

  "Noah."

  "Really," drawled his lordship in bored accents. "Must we be subjected to this? The trip is tedious enough."

  "I'm interested," the widow protested quietly. She envied the American's easy friendliness. What would it be like, she wondered, to have no secrets? "Tell me about your nieces and nephews."

  "Perhaps it is tedious," Noah admitted, looking at the other passengers.

  "I'd like to hear," said the tradesman. It was the simplest method of needling the fop.

  "Tell us," said the vicar, thinking that perhaps it wasn't true that the colonials were heathens.

  "Don't mind hearing," commented the soldier as he polished a brass button on his uniform with the sleeve of his red coat.

  "It's better than listening to him snore," the farmer concluded, pointing to the old gentlemen situated between himself and Noah. That man was indeed snoring softly, his head resting back against the leather cushions. The Adam's apple in his neck bobbed as he swallowed.

  "Yes, I suppose it is," Noah said gravely, his eyes dancing as Gideon chortled. "Well, Salem and Ashley have three children: Courtney, Trenton, and Travis. Gareth and Darlene have two: Elizabeth and Jordan. Leah and Troy are the parents of Edward, David, Michael, and Jacob. Scamps, all of them," he added fondly. "Rae and Jericho have three—all girls—Elyse, Katie, and Garland." He paused, clicking them off in his mind. "Yes, that's everyone. Of course, Ashley is increasing again. I suspect I may be an uncle for the thirteenth time before I return to Virginia. My business here is taking rather longer than I expected."

  "What precisely is your business?" his lordship asked, eager to have done with family matters.

  "Didn't I say? No, I suppose I didn't, I am settling some estate matters for my sister-in-law as well as my brother-in-law. "

  "Your family has property here?" He failed to keep the surprise out of his voice, and everyone in the coach heard his patronizing tone again. They waited to see how Noah would respond to this second slight.

  "Salem's wife is Ashley Lynne, the niece of the late duke of Linfield. More to the point, she is his sole heir. You may be familiar with the Linfield estate. That's where I was coming from when my mount came up lame." His lordship looked at Noah with new respect, not that Noah cared one whit. "I am headed for Stanhope. I understand this coach passes there on its way to London. Stanhope belongs to my brother-in-law."

  "No, you're in the wrong of it there," corrected his lordship. "I know for a fact it's now the property of Lord Hunter-Smythe. He's been on the Continent a number of years now."

  "Geoffrey Hunter-Smythe has never been to the Continent to my knowledge. He's lived in America most of his life, where he's quite content to be known as Jericho Smith. He's Rahab's husband."

  "You're practically quality yourself, man," murmured the tradesman, much put out by this turn of events.

  Noah laughed. "Hardly. I have as much interest in titles as Ashley and Jericho do, which is to say I have none at all. However, the estates must be maintained and there are problems inherent in being an absentee landlord, which is why I was elected to come here."

  "How very... democratic," his lordship sneered.

  "The decision was unanimous?" asked the widow.

  Noah shook his head. "No, there was one dissenting vote."

  "Oh?"

  "Mine," he said dryly.

  "Somehow I think I suspected that. Here, I'll take Gideon now. He's all done in. Thank you. It's not easy traveling with a baby."

  "Not easy traveling at all anymore," said the farmer, his florid face stony. "Rather not have to make this trip at all. Brigands and highwaymen all along the post road nowadays."

  Noah gave up his young charge reluctantly. He made a mental note to bring something very special back for Ashley's newest baby. "Surely that's an exaggeration," he said, trying to ease the worried look that had come over the young widow's face.

  "Not much of one," the tradesman interjected. "A coach was robbed just north of here a fortnight ago."

  "And they ain't been caught," offered the farmer gloomily.

  "I'm sure the Lord will protect us this night," said the vicar.

  The fop sighed loudly. "You trust the Lord. I'll look to this for help." He opened the front of his coat and pointed to the pistol outlined by the snug material of his satin vest.

  The soldier patted the saber sheathed at his side. "And I, this."

  "Oh, please," said the widow, hugging Gideon closer to her. "Do stop brandishing your weapons."

  "Hardly brandishing it, ma'am," said the soldier. Still, he took his hand from his side and continued polishing his buttons.

  His lordship closed his jacket. "One has to be prepared for any eventuality."

  "I don't hold with carrying weapons," said the vicar.

  The tradesman nodded. "It's just as simple to hide one's money."

  "Aye," said the farmer. He eyed the chain of gold which dangled from the fop's jacket pocket. "And your valuables. No sense in calling attention to one's wealth."

  The widow interjected again. "Please, you make it sound as if we are certain to be waylaid. There is no cause to believe such a thing." She patted Gideon on his bottom. "In any event, the safest place for your valuables is in a child's blankets. No highwayman I've heard about has ever thought to search in such a place."

  Noah laughed at the suggestion. He could well imagine how the widow would take on an entire band of robbers in order to protect her child. "I believe you're in the right of it there, ma'am."

  "Yes, I believe you are," said his lordship thoughtfully. He tugged on his gold chain and pulled out a timepiece, turning it over in his hand. "Would you keep this for me? Just until we arrive safely in London?"

  Noah's eyes widened. He hadn't realized how quickly the thread of hysteria would bind the passengers. The fop was quite serious in his request.

  The widow hesitated. "It was only a jest, my lord," she said softly, eyeing the finely crafted watch as if it would bite her.

  "Please," his lordship insisted, "and these rings also. You may have spoken in jest but rarely has a suggestion been more accurate. Highwaymen have their own code. At least that's what I'm given to understand. My valuables would be quite safe with you."

  Her brows drew together as she thought it over. "Very well, but I think you are making too much of this talk." She took the watch and gingerly placed it beneath Gideon's blankets. "Not all of your rings, my lord. You must keep something of value lest the villains think you've hidden your goods elsewhere." Her smile mocked the fop's concern, but he seemed oblivious to it.

  The vicar cleared his throat. "I have a money purse I should like to arrive in London the same time I do. Would you?" He reached in his pocket and brought out a leather change purse and held it in the flat of his palm.

  "I don't think..."

  "I would be very grateful," the vicar pressed his concern.

  "Well, perhaps you should keep a few coins in the purse." The widow made a fold in Gideon's blanket. "Drop the others in here."

  The vicar did so without hesitation. "Thank you. I feel much better."

  The widow shook her head as if she couldn't understand what had overtaken the man."'Tis frankly absurd," she said, "but would anyone else feel more the thing if Gideon kept the riches?"

  "If you wouldn't mind," said the farmer. He bent forward and took off one of his sturdy walking shoes, withdra
wing a money purse similar to the vicar's though much lighter in weight. He extracted a few coins, placed them back in his shoe, and gave the widow his drawstring bag. "The purse was deuced uncomfortable anyway," he said sourly.

  Shrugging, the tradesman lifted his hat, took his purse from where it rested on his bald pate, and held it out. His lordship passed it to the widow. A moment later the soldier slipped off his money belt and gave it over. Since the old gentlemen was still sleeping, oblivious to these new arrangements, everyone looked expectantly at Noah. He held up his hands, palms out. "I'm afraid the coachman took what the innkeeper didn't. I assure you I've been robbed already."

  The widow laughed appreciatively. "It's just as well. I don't think Gideon could hold another farthing."

  Noah found himself liking the sound of the widow's laughter. He wished he could think of something amusing to say. How his family would gloat if they ever became privy to his interest in the widow. None of the McClellans really approved of his fiancée. Not that they would come right out and say so. Their approach was more subtle, or at least they considered it to be. "She's certainly lovely," they would say. "A trifle distant, don't you think?" Or, "She's very proper, Noah. Does she ever smile?" It was merely their way of pointing out that Hilary Bowen could be rather chilling when she set her mind to it. Noah was of the opinion that Hilary was slightly intimidated by his large, gregarious family. He spent much of his courtship shielding her from them. His family, true to form, spent much of their time poking fun at him.

  Though he never defended his choice to his family, he told himself that Hilary Bowen was precisely the sort of wife he required. It did not occur to him that perhaps he told himself this too often. Hilary's background was unexceptional. Her father and grandfather were bankers, heading a prestigious firm in Philadelphia, where he had met Hilary. Her only sibling, a brother, had been killed at Yorktown before the surrender of Lord Cornwallis. Hilary was the consummate patriot, even after these five years since the end of the war. She rejected all things British, disdained them to the point of near obsession. Or so his family pointed out. Except for the fact that Hilary was less than cordial to his British in-laws, Noah was unperturbed by it. He considered it made Hilary all the more desirable as a partner, especially since he had been chosen to work on drafting revisions for the Articles of Confederation. As his career in government began to take hold, Noah realized Hilary Bowen would be an asset, not a liability. "Aren't you being a trifle too intellectual about wanting to marry Hilary?" asked his mother shortly after meeting her. Charity McClellan had blushed then, but continued gravely. "What about passion? What about love?"