‘Perfectly.’
‘You look ruffled.’
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure descending the stairs behind her and stiffened as the fair-haired man passed by. He threw her a bright smile that she didn’t return and nodded at Lord Lovell, who followed the man’s leisurely retreat with a pinch of dark brows.
Honora looked at the worn carpet beneath her boots, feeling Lord Lovell’s questioning gaze on her downturned face. She had no intention of telling him what had just transpired or how a gleam of aggravating fear had bled under her skin, but all the same she couldn’t ignore an inexplicable sense of relief in his presence. He didn’t need to know how her heart had leaped to see him appear, frowning but at least familiar and the perfect defence against the stranger’s designs. No doubt Lord Lovell would crow to know he’d been of use to her and she couldn’t allow that—even if it was the truth. After the events of the night things were confused enough between them and nothing else should add to the already disturbed waters.
‘Not at all, I assure you. I imagine the driver will be ready to leave by now. Shall we go down?’
* * *
The coach was in fact still being loaded as Isaac stepped from the inn’s friendly warmth into the winter’s chill and he hugged himself as a freezing breeze tried to find an unguarded opening beneath his coat. Beside him Honora sucked in a harsh breath, white plumes drifting from her mouth to rise and mingle with those coming from his own—not for the first time turning Isaac’s thoughts in the direction of her lips.
Stop that. You learned your lesson last night, or should have if you’ve a lick of sense.
Gritting his teeth on a grumble, Isaac fixed his eyes on the restless horses, determined not to allow his gaze to stray to where Honora wavered on the very edge of his vision, jigging from foot to foot in an effort to keep warm in the most distracting manner possible. Did she do it on purpose, these things to catch his attention? If he hadn’t known better he might have wondered at her knack of drawing his eye, her bobbing up and down now shaking the glossy curls peeping from under her bonnet to shine like a raven’s wing in the crisp sunlight.
Apparently she’d decided to pretend the events of the previous night hadn’t happened. She hadn’t mentioned them at any rate and there was no way on earth Isaac would be the one to raise the subject. As far as he was concerned the sooner they both forgot about his painful lapse in judgement the better—especially considering there were still some miles to go before Carey came near.
Other passengers were waiting to board the carriage into Northamptonshire. There was no sign among them of the fair-haired stranger Isaac had seen on the stairs and he could have sworn he saw Honora glance around as if searching likewise, her shoulders relaxing slightly at the traveller’s disappearance. For all her denials she had seemed ill at ease and the man’s odd smile as he had passed her, combined with her rigid posture and tense face, didn’t help persuade Isaac nothing had happened when his back was turned.
Not that it’s any of my business. Nothing to do with Honora Blake is any of my concern.
‘It’s even more bitter today than yesterday.’
Honora’s voice at his shoulder was thin with cold and when he looked down he saw how she was huddled into her cloak like a turtle withdrawn into its shell. She was peering upwards at the gleaming clouds, the huge white heaps lit from behind and threateningly heavy-bellied.
‘Back home clouds like those would mean snow. Blizzards, too, sometimes, although I’d never seen a storm as bad as the one during my first winter in England. I recall it made the whole house shake and forced a mountain of soot down the parlour chimney.’
Almost amused, Isaac nodded.
Talking about the weather to steer conversation away from any awkward subjects, whether it be of kissing or discomforting men?
Honora must have been in England too long indeed, although beneath his wry entertainment Isaac felt a flicker of real curiosity. He still knew next to nothing about her, hardly able to glean anything to answer the questions that rose unbidden in his mind. She was fascinating, despite his attempts at indifference, and that prickle of curiosity overcame the determination to hold himself aloof that his night-time lapse had made so essential.
‘Where exactly is back home? Somewhere in the Americas, I think?’
‘That’s right. Virginia, just below the Blue Ridge Mountains. Most beautiful place on earth if you want my opinion.’ There was the barest suggestion of wistfulness in her tone and it caught Isaac’s ear at once.
‘You miss it?’
She hesitated, seeming to weigh up whether he deserved a truthful answer. ‘Yes. My parents still live there, in the same house I grew up in. My father built it himself and I can still remember every knot in every wooden beam even though I haven’t seen it or them in five years.’
‘Five years? They haven’t come to visit you in all that time?’
Honora shook her head, all at once the wistful edge replaced by vague defensiveness. ‘It’s a very long and dangerous journey. My father is in poor health and my mother could never leave him to travel alone.’
‘But couldn’t you have gone to them?’
She flicked him a long, cool glance. Perhaps he was asking too many questions. Certainly his interest was well and truly roused, his desire to learn more about her uncomfortably strong and yet too tempting to be ignored.
‘During our marriage Frank wasted all our money on gambling and other vices. I couldn’t afford the passage then and once he left... If I’d asked my parents they would have known how Frank had abandoned me and I couldn’t bear the shame. They risked everything for their love, faced such hardship for choosing to honour their marriage—how could I admit to them what a mess I’d made of my own? Especially when they’d warned me against marrying him in the first place? We parted on bad terms when I saw them last and I’m heartily ashamed of some things I said. To go back now, to feel their love for me again, would be more than I deserve.’
‘You would want to see them again, however? If you had the chance?’
‘Of course. We were so close once, before all this began... But I can’t forgive myself for choosing Frank over them. Do you see? This is my punishment. This unhappiness is what I deserve.’
Isaac frowned, but Honora didn’t see it. She had turned her face away, hiding beneath the brim of her bonnet so he might not see whatever emotion flickered in her eyes. She’d given a far more honest answer than he had anticipated and now he hardly knew how to respond, a shadow of pain underlining each of her words that he suddenly found he wanted to help her forget.
She’s estranged from her parents? Because of Frank? Just when I thought he couldn’t get any worse.
‘I didn’t realise.’
‘Well. Now you know my situation there’s really nothing more to ask.’ Still looking towards the coach, Honora held up a hand in response to the driver’s gesture for them to board, her back ramrod straight and so tense Isaac felt a gleam of pity surface. ‘I have nobody here except for Mary and she has her own family to occupy her, something with which I was never blessed...to my lasting sadness. With my parents the other side of the globe I might as well be entirely alone in the world. It certainly feels that way at times.’
Without waiting for his reply, Honora stepped towards the coach and Isaac watched her go, momentarily thrown by her unexpected candour. There was no bitterness in her words—only the resignation of a woman who had come to terms with her lot in life and accepted it without complaining. Her strength was admirable, some disobedient imp murmured in Isaac’s ear, yet more proof of the spirit he already knew she possessed. The longer he spent in her company the greater his appreciation of that mettle grew...and all the more reason for him to deliver her to Carey as soon as humanly possible.
Think of Charlotte. Think how badly wrong things could go if Honora learned she carries Frank’s chi
ld.
That was what he should focus on, he thought as he followed Honora up the coach step. Charlotte was his first concern in all things, the only woman it was safe for him to love, or had been before the possibility of her following his mother to an early grave rose to beckon her in. Provided she survived the perils of childbirth she would never grow tired of him, or long for another, or cause him the misery his father had known as a result of entering into marriage. She was his responsibility, not Honora—and if he had learned anything about his reluctant companion it was that she was quite capable of looking after herself.
There were already two people seated inside the coach, one on either bench, and Isaac didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that he couldn’t sit next to Honora. Instead he took his place beside an older gentleman, leaving her to settle into a corner by a woman with a large basket on her knee. The usual polite smiles and murmured greetings were exchanged and then with a clatter of hooves they were off, swaying out of the inn’s yard and back on to the road, the coach’s wheels bouncing over the pitted ground and the jingle of the horses’ tack sounding almost festive in the wintry air.
Isaac peered out at the bare trees sliding past, their branches reaching up to claw at the sky. Honora was right. The clouds certainly threatened snow and he wondered if Marlow Manor would soon be covered with a blanket of soft white. Usually Charlotte would be the first one to pitch a clumsy snowball if that happened, but she stayed in her rooms now, hiding away from any prying eyes that might notice her swollen middle. Her wan little face had grown so thin and pale it pained him to see, her misery palpable, but nothing he could take away. He’d bear it all for her if he could and hated how powerless he was to lift the shame and unhappiness that stalked her, still only half grown and yet soon to have motherhood thrust upon her, a role she’d neither planned nor desired.
Unlike Honora. Judging by what she said it seems a baby was something she longed for. Such cruel irony for Frank to leave Charlotte with a child she didn’t want, while Honora’s wish for one never came true.
Isaac allowed himself one swift glance in her direction. She had her eyes closed, head moving gently with the rhythm of the coach, and he couldn’t suppress a sudden searing memory of that same head resting on his shoulder the evening before. It seemed neither of them had slept much during the previous night with all its strange twists and turns and his eyes felt gritty with tiredness, itching to close likewise and abandon him to blessed unconsciousness. There was too much to think about while he was awake—Honora, Charlotte, the baby, Frank—and the yearning to escape was irresistible. Hopefully he wouldn’t end up with his own head in the elderly gentleman’s lap if he allowed himself to drift away for a while, a prospect mirroring Honora’s mortifying lapse closely enough to summon a grim smile.
If I did disgrace myself I’d deserve it. I suppose I ought to be punished in some way, for my behaviour towards Honora last night and for concealing the truth of Frank’s death. It might be a necessary evil, but I can’t help but feel she should know what really happened—or shake the suspicion I might still get caught out.
* * *
It was the movement of the woman next to her gathering up her belongings that woke Honora from her light doze. They were changing horses again. The coach had stopped at another inn and the cabin was empty now apart from Lord Lovell propped up in the opposite corner, his sharp eyes firmly shut and the brim of his hat pulled down low on his brow. Apparently he was too deeply asleep to hear the sounds that echoed around the inn’s yard as fresh horses were hitched in place and Honora might have continued her own catnap if a new passenger hadn’t clambered inside, closing the door behind him just as the coach began to pull away once more.
Arranging her skirts more warmly around her ankles Honora looked up, a vague greeting hovering on her lips to offer to the newcomer—which froze the moment she saw his face.
‘That was a close-run thing. Very nearly missed my connection...and you. How lucky for me I didn’t.’
Any leftover sleepiness evaporated instantly as Honora took in the cold smile of the fair-haired stranger, staring in sudden dread as he dropped into the seat beside her. She could only watch as he glanced across at Lord Lovell, the horrible smile widening as he noted the tightly closed eyes.
‘I thought he was asleep—certainly looked it through the window. That gives us an opportunity to get to know each other without any interruptions.’
Honora’s throat constricted, her tongue dry.
He must have caught an earlier coach to get ahead of us. Was he waiting for me?
The thought twisted her innards sickeningly. Something in the ominous curve of those lips robbed her of her usual spirit and she could hardly muster a reply, instead only able to mutter as her heart began to pound in her ears.
‘It does nothing of the sort. I can wake him up in a matter of moments.’
The blond man chuckled lightly as if she had said something amusing. He crossed one leg over the other, one arm coming up to rest along the back of Honora’s seat and turn her blood to ice. ‘But I don’t think you will. You could have told him about our encounter at the inn, but you didn’t, did you? There must have been a reason you didn’t want him involved. To avoid a scene, perhaps? Or more likely...maybe you weren’t as offended as you were pretending to be. That alone gave me reason for encouragement.’
Honora pressed herself as far back into her seat as she could, never taking her eyes off the revolting specimen in front of her. Back at the inn there had been at least the possibility she’d misunderstood his intentions, but now there was no doubt what the stranger wanted. Captivated by her striking looks, he thought he could possess her, taking her connection to Lord Lovell for that of a woman of uncertain virtue, and despite the fear prickling up her spine Honora felt her hackles raise.
‘I am every bit as offended,’ she spat. Her reticule lay on the seat beside her and she wondered distantly if she had time to snatch it up and delve inside for the flintlock. ‘Whatever you take me for, you are incorrect. You will remove your arm and keep your distance.’
The smile slid from the fair man’s face. His cheeks darkened a little, growing dusky pink with what Honora recognised with a thrill of apprehension was ugly temper.
‘You’re in no position to issue orders. I have the winning card, after all.’
When she didn’t speak he reached for her wrist. Cold fingers closed around it and Honora tried to pull away, pulse leaping, but the stranger holding firm.
‘If you don’t oblige me the way you did your friend over there...’ he jerked his head in Lord Lovell’s direction ‘...I shall return to the inn and find out your name. I have many friends in many places. How long do you think it will take for half of England to learn how you behave with men who aren’t your husband? Is that what you want?’
Honora swallowed, her throat filled with broken glass.
He wouldn’t. A rumour like that would easily reach back to Somerset, the culmination of the whispers that already circulated around her. Her name was already stained by Frank’s abandonment. How could she ever show her face again if she was brought any lower than that?
‘That would be a lie. I’ve done nothing that I need be ashamed of.’
‘But who would believe your word over mine?’ The cruel fingers dug into her skin as the man leaned forward, the jolting of the coach making him sway nauseatingly. ‘Who would side with you? Who would take the word of a—’
But Honora would never know what slur he intended to utter next.
‘Take your hand off her. Now.’
The blond man jumped, his head snapping round to look at Lord Lovell—who was awake and watching every movement, his face turned to granite and his jaw held so firm Honora couldn’t help a tick of admiration despite the snakes coiling in her stomach.
‘I was—’
‘I know exactly what you were doing an
d I’m doing you a favour by intervening. One more moment and she would have taken matters into her own hands—that’s a far more frightening prospect than any threat of my own.’
The stranger let go of Honora’s wrist and she scrambled away at once, fairly flinging herself into the seat beside Lord Lovell. She barely had time to register his reassuring squeeze of her fingers—or the spark that crackled through her at the contact—before he was on his feet, the other man flinching backwards, but Lord Lovell’s fist flying out toward the carriage roof rather than to land a blow.
‘Driver, stop a moment. Somebody wishes to get out.’
Lord Lovell’s stare never wavered as the coach shuddered to a halt, dark eyes boring into the traveller’s watery blue. He seemed to have grown taller still in his anger—on her behalf, Honora thought with a jolt of surprise. It was unexpected yet more pleasant than she might have predicted, and when he shoved the other passenger bodily towards the door her amazement only increased.
‘This is as far as you wanted to travel by this coach. Get out.’
‘How dare—? You can’t make me!’
‘I can and I am. Unless you’d like to argue with me further?’
Honora watched with shallow breaths as Lord Lovell bent down, his face mere inches from the fair-headed man’s. The last time Lord Lovell had been so close to another it had been her on the receiving end, but there was nothing romantic about the working of Lord Lovell’s jaw now, or the flexing of fingers into balled fists.
Without another word the stranger ducked his head and slid out of the door, stumbling down the steps to land untidily on the frosted ground. Lord Lovell threw his bag out after him, slamming the door on the man’s pitifully angry shout.
‘I’ll find out her name, and yours, and then everybody will know what kind of woman she is! You might think you can do as you wish, but I’ll make you sorry!’
A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell Page 8