The Rake's Rainbow Read Free Page B

her lap.
    “Harry, do something!” begged the wife, clutching his arm as the coach again skidded sideways.
    “What the bloody ‘ell is you doin’?” shouted the mail’s guard from his perch up behind with the post. Scrabbling sounds moved along the roof and all eyes raised to follow his progress.
    “Pray God the guard can slow us,” Caroline gasped, meeting the terror-stricken eyes of the farmer’s wife as another sickening lurch nearly landed them in the ditch. One of her hands dug into the drunk’s shoulder.
    “This is the most despicable journey I have ever suffered. Such low company should never be allowed to board,” snapped the spinster, casting a look of such scorn at Caroline that she gasped in shock. “And now this!”  Back ramrod straight, she glared at the other passengers. Only her death grip on the strap detracted from her haughty disdain.
    Opening her mouth to protest, Caroline screamed in terror as the coach leaned sharply around another corner, poised agonizingly on two wheels, then rolled down an embankment. A horse squealed with pain.
    She watched in horror as her fellow passengers tumbled slowly in her direction. Then her head exploded in a cloud of sparks and the world went black.
     

Chapter 2
     
    The Honourable Thomas Mannering awoke to a full cavalry brigade rampaging through his skull. His stomach churned in protest at the least movement, and his mouth had apparently been used as a nesting site by a flock of untidy birds. Altogether, a normal morning.
    What was not normal was the lumpy mattress. Squeezing his eyelids tight, he burrowed into the pillow, avoiding the light he knew from vast experience would only worsen his condition. Where was he?  What activities had he indulged in this time.
    He groaned as memory returned. Of course – the unwanted journey; the mental battle between images of Alicia and Josephine; and that moment when he could go no further…
    Desperately needing a drink, he had left the mail, reserving the last seat on the next coach. But the drink or two needed to restore his courage had stretched to several bottles. His last memory was of a buxom barmaid brushing suggestively against his arm.
    He shifted, suddenly aware that he was not alone. One arm was draped over a deliciously soft body, his fingers cupping a generous breast. This triggered another memory – nuzzling his face against that same breast as he drifted to sleep.
    Had he taken the barmaid to bed?  It would hardly surprise him, nor was she an antidote like some he had lately encountered. In recent months he had cut a wide and indiscriminate swath through the muslin company, even accepting the questionable services of street prostitutes in his quest for nepenthe. It was a wonder he remained healthy. But another of his increasingly common black-outs left no memories of this particular liaison.
    Shielding his eyes, he cautiously cracked one lid open, then heaved a sigh of relief. The light was too dim to hurt. He carefully turned his head to inspect the girl. Was she clean enough to risk another romp?
    Pain knifed his neck.
    Pain was something new, but he had no time to assess its cause. Astonishment sent him reeling to the chamber pot without a moment to spare. Following an unpleasant interval, he grasped his swirling head and hesitantly approached the bed.
    His eyes had not lied. The woman was both a stranger and seriously injured. Her head was swathed in bandages, as was the arm that lay atop the coverlet.
    “Damnation!” he muttered angrily, looking for some clue as to where he was. The sloped roof and peeling walls hinted at the top floor of an unfashionable inn. Nothing unusual about that…  The tiny apartment was furnished as if for servants, containing a narrow bed, a single rickety chair, and an equally decrepit table. At least a fire burned in the mean grate, though doing little to suppress the January chill. Two valises rested atop a small trunk. Thankfully opening his own, he extracted