by Ella Edon
“Lieutenant,” she said. She moved away from him, her knees in the gap beside him so they had no chance of accidentally touching his. “You are not culpable. We were under fire. Our lives were in danger.”
“I know,” he said, his voice tight. “But…”
“Not much we can do about the mess,” Raymonde said. “We might as well stop fussing about it.”
He saw her lips lifting a sad smile.
“It doesn’t have to be bad,” he said. “I mean… We could go back and fetch a maid tomorrow, or…”
“And thereby demonstrate wholesale to our friends and guests that we were gone for a night together, unaccompanied?” Her voice was a whip. “I think not.”
“No,” Cutler agreed. He looked away, feeling deeply sorry. He had no idea what he could say or think of to improve their situation. She was far too clever to accept any of his bright ideas. And he knew that her assessment of the situation was correct. They were compromised.
“What we could do,” she said, and he could hear the thoughtfulness now. “Is to conceal our identities and travel north, as we planned. Once there, we will take a maid back with us, and have it be known that we employed her after our departure to ensure secrecy from the rest of the household.”
“We could,” he agreed. He looked up, impressed at her quick thinking. “You have a fast mind.”
“I need one,” she said. Her dark lips twisted in a wry grimace.
Cutler nodded. “I see.”
Again, he was struck with the sense that he knew nothing about her. He watched her as she put away her handkerchief and leaned back in the seat, a tense expression on her face. She was clearly no stranger to difficult situations and he wished he knew more of her.
“We’ll change horses at York as we planned, I think?”
Cutler stared at her in undisguised admiration. Of all the things he had absolutely not been expecting, the fact that she’d be so unerringly down-to-earth was among the first.
“You are wise, Lady Raymonde,” he said. He meant it in the truest sense.
She raised a brow at him. “That,” she said, “is as may be. I don’t think that my agreeing to this trip bears that out. But we shall see.”
With that, she shut her eyes and, to all intents and purposes, went to sleep.
Cutler leaned back in his seat and sighed. He had made a right mess of things. The strange twist of fate that had put him here, in a coach, with Lady Raymonde, was not one that he regretted, however. He glanced over at her. Her eyes were still closed, long lashes resting on her cheeks.
He felt his heart twist with a mix of tenderness, regret and admiration. She clearly didn’t wish to talk, however, and he didn’t think disturbing her was in any way a good idea. He leaned back in his seat and tried to sleep. They had a few hours before they’d make a stop. And he was clearly utterly unnecessary when it came to traveling.
Chapter Thirteen
New Territory
Raymonde opened one eye, hearing the rhythm of Cutler’s breathing change to restfulness. She studied him where he sat opposite, seeming asleep. He had both eyes closed and he looked at peace. His thin, handsome face was at rest and she thought that he looked younger and carefree.
He is a difficult man to understand.
She twisted to look out of the window.
What had he been thinking of, dragging her off on this madcap adventure? It was dangerous for her, to say the least. He was thoughtless, reckless… Careless. She felt her annoyance grow and build a wall between herself and the man opposite. It was a wall she built intentionally, growing it to shut out her feelings for him.
When he’d run up to her, she’d felt relieved and thankful. She couldn’t forget his tenderness as he lifted her up, checking that she was unhurt and whole.
“He used my name.”
She would never forget the tone of it.
He stirred, hearing her voice, and she bit her lip, realizing that she’d spoken aloud. She glanced over at him, but he had fallen back to slumber.
This is difficult.
She turned her attention back to her immediate problem, which was the fact that she was on a journey to the home of a man about whom she knew practically nothing.
I don’t even know all his names.
She knew his first name, at least. She didn’t know if he had any others, or anything of his background. He was, she could gather from Emilia’s enigmatic words, quite a mystery.
And, she thought with some unhappiness, she had convinced herself to get into a coach with a man she barely knew, travelling to a destination she had no idea of. She shut her eyes a moment, wondering how she had ever managed to believe this was a good idea.
What in perdition’s name possessed me to believe him that I was in danger?
She raised a brow in a wry manner. Somebody had shot at her – that should convince her that, to some degree at least, his estimation was correct.
She swallowed, finding that her throat was parched. Wincing, she recalled the hamper that Miss Bridge was meant to pack. It should already be in the coach. She felt it on the floor by her foot and reached down, finding a glass jar of cordial.
“Whew.”
The sound of the bottle clinking as she replaced it made the sleeper stir. She tensed, waiting for him to awake. He snorted and shifted in the seat.
She moved back as quietly as she could, half-shutting her eyes to pretend to sleep.
“Lady Raymonde?”
She sighed and shifted, as if she was asleep. It was the best thing she could think of doing, to avoid an awkward conversation. If she just waited awhile, he would lose interest and fall asleep again.
She counted to five, but he shifted in his seat and curiosity got the better of her, and so she sat up and opened her eyes again.
“Lieutenant? What is it?”
He seemed to hear the impatience in her voice because a pained expression crossed his face. He leaned a little forward as they went over a bump. “Sorry – it was rude of me to fall asleep like that. I should be a better companion.”
She raised a brow. “Not really. It’s a coach ride. I didn’t expect you to put on a theater play for my diversion.”
He smiled and she couldn’t help smiling back. He looked very boyish when he smiled – and he also looked a little sickly.
“Are you thirsty?” she asked. “I asked my companion if she’d pack a hamper.” She gestured to the basket with her foot.
His face transformed with relief. “Is there water in there?”
She made a face, though inside she was laughing. “I think that we have something better than that, Lieutenant.”
Still struggling to hold back her smile as she dug into the hamper and found the bottle of cordial. It was redcurrant flavor, not the best, in her opinion, but sweet and certainly refreshing on a warm day.
“Thank you.”
She watched him drink thirstily and hid her happy smile. She was glad she could at least do something to make his day a good one. He wiped his mouth with his hand – a gesture from the army – and passed it to her.
“Thank you,” he said. “Sorry… I suppose I shouldn’t have drunk straight from the bottle. Have you a glass?” He made a face as he pointed at the rim of the neck.
Raymonde just fixed him with a bland look. “We have only one bottle of cordial, and I think my scruples will diminish as my thirst grows stronger.”
They both laughed.
She felt the tension lessen and then recede.
“We will reach York in about an hour, shall we not?” she asked as he leaned back in the seat.
“I reckon so,” Cutler agreed. “I’m sorry to say, I don’t know how long we’ve been traveling already. I was sound asleep.”
She smiled. “Well, it’s been almost an hour, by my reckoning. I checked my watch just as you woke.” She gestured to a chain around her neck, where her uncle’s pocket-watch hung.
“Thank you.” He looked relieved.
“When we
reach York, what shall we do?” Raymonde asked, making conversation. “I mean, we could travel on until we reach another, smaller town, but there is merit in staying in a city, I think. One is less likely to attract notice in a place so filled with people.”
Cutler raised a brow and she realized he was impressed with her thinking. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Had he thought she would leave all plans to him? If she had, they might risk traveling forever and never remember to change horses.
“I think you are sensible.” He nodded slowly. “I recall an inn by the city gate, where we might stay after changing horses. It’s small enough that we needn’t worry about any busybodies.”
“Quite so,” Raymonde said, feeling her face twist with distaste. She looked out of the window. Somebody from Town seeing them was not even worth thinking about Her reputation would be ruined and she could never hope for a safe future again.
“What should we do, when we get there?” he asked. “I mean… We shall need to request a place, and…”
Raymonde nodded firmly. She had thought of all of this a while ago when he was resting. “I think we would do best to travel under assumed names. I will be your sister. You will be…”
“I’m Luke Longford,” he said quickly. “He was a fellow I knew in the army. And Luke’s a nice name. Like Lord Westmore, you know.”
“Yes,” Raymonde agreed, not particularly caring what they called themselves, but impressed he thought of a name so quickly. “I’m Phillipa Longford, then. A woman I knew in the countryside, near our estate,” she added.
“Luke and Phillipa Longford,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
They both leaned back in their respective seats.
The silence between them was less strained than it had been, and Raymonde found her own eyelids drooping as the day darkened. By the time they reached York, she was surprised to be startled awake by the sway and jolt of the carriage coming into the yard.
“What in the…” she murmured, feeling dazed. She twisted around in the seat and found the Lieutenant leaning over with a concerned expression on his face.
“It’s the inn,” he said. “I told the coachman to stop off here.”
“I remember that bit,” Raymonde said with a dark glance in his direction. She hadn’t taken leave of her senses; she’d just fallen asleep!
“I asked him if he’d change the horses, too,” he said hesitantly.
She nodded.
When they stopped, he stayed where he was.
She frowned at him. “Sir? Should we not get out? I assume you mean to have dinner in the inn, and I fear I cannot wait long.”
His eyes sparkled, and she felt her heart jump as he chuckled warmly. “I think that’s a capital idea. I will request dinner to be sent up to the inn parlor directly.”
Raymonde nodded. She felt a little ill as she twisted around to stand up, and it wasn’t just the motion of the coach – the thought of being in the inn parlor was not altogether pleasant. They would have a higher chance of bumping into someone from the Ton there.
Then again, if they sat down with the good traders and laborers of York in the general dining-room, they might stand out more. She glanced down at her muslin dress. It was patterned and rare and not the sort of thing readily seen in the dining-room of a fairly ordinary inn.
“Let’s go,” she said, making a decision. Giving him a nod, she waited for him to get out.
“It’s cold out here,” he said, reaching to help her out.
“Yes,” she said. “It is.”
“Let’s go inside.”
She realized, as they walked into the inn, that she was leaning on his arm. It was the first time they had walked anywhere hand-in-hand. She felt her cheeks go red. It felt good, to walk like this with him. His fingers were strong and firm and they gripped hers tenderly. She could feel the muscle in his wrists, the legacy of years on the battlefield. His hands were warm, and the gentle firmness with which he held her hand made her feel safe, and cared for, in ways she never had.
“Sir! We would like dinner for two, in the inn parlor,” he said somewhat high-handedly to the proprietor, who sat behind the desk in the front of the inn, as he walked up the steps. “And a room, for two persons, please.”
“I see,” the innkeeper said, not looking particularly impressed. “Names?” He reached for a pen, a sleepy expression on his face.
Raymonde tensed and she glanced at the Lieutenant, who’d gone white.
“Phillipa and Luke Longford,” she said swiftly. “I’m his sister.”
“Yes,” Cutler agreed. Raymonde shot him a glance, but the innkeeper had already accepted their story, it seemed.
“I’ve put you in the rooms overlooking the garden,” the innkeeper murmured. “These are the keys. The parlor is on the second floor.” He turned away, stifling a yawn. It was almost ten o’ clock, and he was clearly weary.
“I think it’s this way,” Cutler said, walking hesitantly in the shadows.
Raymonde giggled as they walked up the steps, the surreal nature of the journey finally getting too much for her.
She was so tired! She was hungry and weary. She was confused, too, and she wished she knew what to do. Somehow, the fact that they were blundering around in the dark, looking for a room that they had no idea where it was, struck her as amusing.
“It’s here somewhere,” Cutler whispered. Raymonde giggled again, and, as he gripped her hand tenderly, she felt herself calm down.
“Here it is,” he said. They came to a stop outside the door. Raymonde looked at it.
“Is this yours?” she asked.
“No,” he said, blinking in the light from a lamp on the wall. “It’s yours. I’m next door.”
Raymonde nodded. She took the key from him, wondering why her heart was suddenly beating so fast. She slipped it into the lock and turned it, then looked up as he opened his own door, next to hers. He smiled at her.
“Goodnight,” Raymonde said, then shut the door and leaned on it. Her heart was beating fast, her cheeks flushed.
She shut her eyes for a moment, recalling how it had felt when Lieutenant Wingate lifted her up to settle her in the coach. She remembered the sweet feeling of his arms around her, the press of his body against hers, the way he’d held her so tenderly, as if she was priceless and valuable.
She felt her body fill with warmth, remembering the way he’d gently helped her up, the sound of his voice saying her name. She stiffened her back, feeling annoyed with herself.
He’s just a man. And you know what they are.
She felt familiar anger fill her up, giving her the strength to take herself to the bowl of water on the nightstand and splash her face.
“Men are all like Osburne,” she told herself under her breath. “They’ll all disparage and be cruel and mocking when you get to know them better.”
She dried her face on the flannel beside the bowl and sat down on the bed. Her legs were weary, and she wished she was asleep. Her heart ached. It had been a long day, and by no means easy.
All the same, as she undid the buttons on the back of her gown – a difficult undertaking, which she had attempted only a handful of times – she was surprised that her mind was filled with thoughts of the Lieutenant.
She heard him walking across the floor in the room next door and tensed. Her imagination filled him in, dressed in his breeches and shirt alone, or mayhap only the breeches, his shirt already discarded on the seat with the rest of his clothes.
His chest would be lean and muscled, she imagined, his shoulders broad, his waist trim. She had felt how hard his body was when he lifted her – a real surprise, since she’d only ever been embraced that closely by Cousin Vee or her aunt before. His body was so different to her own.
“That’s enough,” she told herself, feeling her cheeks redden fiercely. She slipped into the bed, dressed in her shift.
The mattress was soft and comfortable, the coverlet thick and warm. She laid her head on the pillow an
d shut her eyes, feeling impossibly weary.
As her thoughts drifted with sleep, she found herself wondering if the creak of the bed moving next door was the Lieutenant getting into bed. She imagined his dark-haired head on the pillow, his firm chin tilted to the ceiling as he laid his head on the soft support…
“That’s quite enough,” she said to herself.
She shut her eyes and tore her thoughts away and back towards thoughts of Westmore and what had happened that morning. She was still wondering about the shot and why it had been fired, when her mind drifted off to sleep.