The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress - Anna Campbell Page 0,56

in Selina’s eyes at the prospect of being trapped with Cecil. He lowered his voice as he spoke to Derwent. "I believe it’s best if Mrs. Martin isn’t alone with Canley-Smythe."

Derwent still looked as though something in the vicinity stank to high heaven. "You have my word that she’ll come to no harm, Bruard."

The sneer he sent Selina indicated that despite his assurances, he believed she deserved all she got. Brock fought back the urge to beat the self-righteousness out of the sod. Right now, he and Selina needed Derwent’s help – and his discretion, although Brock had a grim feeling that was too much to ask.

"Thank you," he said, although the words stuck in his craw.

"You can wait here and we’ll send back help, or you can follow us on one of your carriage horses," Derwent said coldly.

Now Selina no longer fussed over Erskine, the brief purpose faded from her expression. She was back to looking like the world ended. Damn it all to hell.

"I’ll ride one of the horses." He raised his voice so that Cecil heard him and noted that Selina’s defender intended to arrive at the inn soon after she did. "I should be just behind you. Derwent, when you get to the Blue Wagon, can you please wait with Mrs. Martin, so that no ruffians annoy her?"

He meant one ruffian in particular. To Brock’s relief, Derwent nodded. "It would be my pleasure."

He didn’t sound like it would be a pleasure, but at this stage, Brock would take what he could get. "Also could you arrange for someone to return to round up the rest of the horses?"

"Of course."

Brock bowed to Selina and sent her a smile meant to bolster her courage. "Such bad luck that our short trip together ended in grief, Mrs. Martin."

She didn’t look up at him. Brock burned to tell her that everything would be fine, that he would make it so. He burned to claim her as his, and consign Cecil to the devil. He burned to take her in his arms and kiss her, until she looked like the brave, vital woman he knew she was at heart, and not this crushed, frightened waif.

But all this burning did him no ounce of good. While they had an audience, he had to do his best to preserve appearances, despite every man here knowing just why Mrs. Martin had shared a carriage with the scandalous Earl of Bruard. Hell, the horses probably knew.

Derwent offered his arm again. "Mrs. Martin, may I assist you inside?"

Selina cast a nervous glance into the shadowy interior. "I think Erskine should go first."

"Erskine, I’ll help you," Brock said, before Derwent could protest.

"Thank ye, my lord. I’m gey sorry I’m causing all this palaver."

"I’m sorry you’ve been injured in my service," Brock said.

Maneuvering a man with a splinted arm into the confined space took more effort and time than either Erskine or Derwent appreciated. Cecil made his displeasure felt when the coachman settled beside him, but Brock was determined that Selina wasn’t going to sit next to her betrothed. At least if she sat beside Derwent, she’d have some protection. How Brock loathed that he had to let her go without him, although he’d do his best to catch up before they reached the inn.

Derwent took his seat opposite Cecil and Erskine. Brock caught Selina’s arm and spoke under his breath, as she stepped up into the coach. "My darling, I’m hellish sorry…"

"Not now," she muttered and pulled away to find her place. Brock didn’t miss the fulminating glare Cecil leveled on her, but he hoped Derwent’s presence – and perhaps Erskine’s, too – would preserve the niceties as far as the Blue Wagon.

"Shut the damned door," Cecil snarled. "It’s bloody freezing."

His heart heavy with guilt, regret and foreboding, Brock slammed the door and stepped back. As the short, cold day closed in toward night, Plaistow set the horses moving.

***

Selina clasped shaking hands in her lap and told herself she wouldn’t cry. She fixed her gaze on the bleak view out the window, although she didn’t see anything of the landscape. Instead, she struggled to come to terms with the mammoth scale of the disaster that had befallen her.

Brock had done his best to place an innocent gloss on her presence, but not even a babe in arms would believe his flimsy story. Nausea churned in her belly when she imagined what might happen now that Cecil had discovered her infidelity.

Not just Cecil. There were other witnesses, apart