by Candace Camp
“Oh, ma’am, I’d be honored!” Mrs. Putnam beamed at her so brightly that Damaris could not help but believe her.
“If you are certain,” Damaris said, adding, “I shall send it back to you as soon as I get home, I promise.”
Babs went to the dresser and opened a drawer, pulling out a simple gown of yellow cotton. It laced up the back and was decorated with a contrasting sash. “Would this suit?”
“It’s lovely,” Damaris told her, taking the dress. “You are very kind.”
“That’s that, then. Now, breakfast is almost ready, so you just put that on and come join us.”
With a nod and a smile, she left the room, and Damaris turned slowly to face Alec. She had not dared even to glance at him the whole time their hostess was with them. He had apparently been keeping his attention just as steadfastly on the fireplace, for now he pivoted toward her. His face was still stamped with the unmistakable lines of desire, his lips fuller and softer, his eyes the color of the center of a flame. He offered her a faint smile.
“Much as I would like to, perhaps ’twould be best if I did not stay to watch you dress.”
Damaris nodded and glanced away. “What are we—do you have any plans? Of what we should do, I mean.”
“Putnam said he would take us in his wagon into town. A mail coach comes through there every day.”
“A mail coach!” Damaris stared, laughter bubbling up in her at the thought of the aristocratic Rawdon riding shoulder to shoulder with farmers and merchants and grocers’ wives in a mail coach.
“Not my preferred mode of travel, I admit. But unless you have more of the ready than I, we are not plump in the pocket.”
“No, nor I. I have a little in my reticule, but most of it I put in my baggage for safekeeping, along with my letters of credit.” Damaris sighed at the thought of her vanished trunks.
“And while no doubt I could sell my tie pin, I cannot but feel we would be less noticed if we traveled like ordinary folk. Putnam has offered to lend me clothes and a hat. We shall be entirely unremarkable.”
Damaris refrained from pointing out that with his height and unusual coloring, Alec would stand out in any crowd no matter how ordinary his manner of dress. “Is it really necessary to disguise ourselves? Do you think those men will still be searching for us?”
Alec shrugged. “I shouldn’t think so. But, frankly, I would not have thought they would pursue you out of town and attack you on the road, either. I think it is better to make preparations, just in case they are persistent.”
“But what about your horse?”
“I shall leave Erebos here. I went out to look at him when I woke up, and ’tis clear Putnam took good care of him last night. Fast as Erebos is, we are safer, I think, without him. We are too easy to spot, and, riding double, we slow him down. Besides, I could not persuade Putnam to accept any gold for taking us in and giving us their bed, but he was willing to board Erebos for a fee, holding it a business transaction, not a favor. I shall send a groom to fetch Erebos once we are home.”
“It was good of you to find a way to pay them.”
He gave her a sardonic look. “I am aware you think I am arrogant beyond measure, but I do spare a thought now and then for others.”
Damaris looked away from his bright gaze, abashed. “No, indeed, I know that you can be most kind. You have certainly been so to me. It is only… well, in my experience noblemen are not inclined to notice people of lesser station, much less take their problems into account.”
“‘Let them eat cake?’ “he quoted, watching her quizzically. “My grandmother will tell you that I have an unfortunate affinity for those of lesser station, but it was usually they who hid me.”
Damaris glanced up at him, startled by the peculiar remark. Had he said hid him?
Rawdon, too, looked faintly surprised at his words, and he went on quickly, “It is to be hoped that I have improved myself in your estimation.” He sketched a playful bow toward her. “Now, I will leave you to put on your fetching frock.”
Aside from the fact that it was obviously both too wide and too short for Damaris, Babs Putnam’s dress was not much different from the simple styles in muslin and cambric that were the fashion these days. However, Damaris soon found out that it was nearly impossible to tie the fastenings up the back, at least the top ones, no matter how she stretched and twisted. Finally, she opened the door, intending to call to Mrs. Putnam to help her.
Alec was standing at the end of the short hall, looking into the room beyond, engaged in conversation with one of the younger Putnam children, a boy of about five. The boy was talking earnestly to Alec, who was gazing down at him with a bemused expression. The lad held out a colored wooden top as he jabbered away, his towhead tilted far back to gaze up at Alec. By the color of his hair, he could almost have been mistaken for Alec’s child. Damaris’s heart squeezed within her chest.
She thought of little Matthew, remembering his baptism, when Thea had handed Matthew to Alec and he had gazed down at the baby, his face a mingling of horror, awe, and a hint of yearning. Then, too, tears had clogged Damaris’s throat, even as she smiled. She watched now, her eyes shimmering wetly, as Alec reached down and took the top.
“Do you mean me to spin it?” he asked gravely, squatting down as he wrapped the string around the toy. “Well, Master Jem, it has been years since I have done this, you understand.” He gave a twist of his wrist, whipping the toy out onto the floor with the string, so that its tip struck the wooden floor and spun madly.
The boy let out a crow of delight, chasing the top, and Alec chuckled as he stood back up. Damaris could not help but laugh, and Alec turned and saw her. His gaze brightened as he ran his eyes down her, taking in the too-large dress as well as the sight of her bare ankles sticking out beneath it.
“Mrs. Howard, what a sight for sore eyes you are.”
Damaris grimaced at him. “Do come here. I cannot fasten it by myself.”
“Ah.” Comprehension touched his features, and she thought his eyes turned even brighter. He turned back to the boy, saying, “Pray excuse me, Master Jem, I must answer my lady’s call for help.” He strode toward her, saying, “I am happy to serve as your maid, my dear.”
Damaris stepped back and closed the door after him. “I could hardly call Mrs. Putnam with you standing right there.”
“Of course not. ’Tis your husband’s prerogative, anyway, to help you dress.” His eyes danced, but there was a trace of heat in them as well.
Damaris could not keep her gaze from going to his mouth, remembering the taste and feel of his earlier kisses. She flushed and turned away, presenting him with her back. She pressed the sides of the dress to her back to conceal as much of her skin as possible, but it still sagged open in the middle, revealing a strip of skin down the column of her spine.
He reached out and, light as a feather, ran his forefinger down the bare skin.
“Alec…”
“Yes, dear?” He seemed lost in contemplation.
“You were going to tie the ties?”
“But of course. I am merely assessing the situation.”
He scooped up her hair and lifted it away from her back, letting it fall over her shoulder. Damaris tried to control the tremor that ran through her as his fingertips grazed her skin.
“I must say, Mrs. Howard,” he commented, taking the top ties in his hands, “you have a way of testing my control.” There was a ragged edge to his voice.
“I do not mean to,” Damaris replied.
“That makes it all the more enticing.” He tied the last set of ribbons, then slid his hands around her waist to take the sides of the sash and pull them back. Damaris’s stomach quivered in response. He tied the strands in a neat bow. “There.” He pressed a kiss soft as a butterfly’s touch on the nape of her neck.
Damaris hardly dared turn around. She did not want him to see what she was sure must be on her face. But neither could she resist looking at him. His face was as she had thou
ght it would be—desire softening his lips and tinting the sharp line of his cheekbones with pink, his eyes fierce and compelling—and the sight of him made desire flicker teasingly deep within her.
He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, and he brushed his thumb across her lips. “I will have you in my bed. I promise.”
Damaris lifted her chin. “And do I have nothing to say about it?”
“Of course.” His lips lifted slightly. “You shall say, ‘Yes.’ “
Twelve
Damaris stared at him, unable to speak. It took all her concentration to keep her knees from collapsing and sending her to a puddle on the floor. She was not sure what she would have done if Alec had pulled her into his arms, as he had earlier this morning. But, fortunately for her composure, he stepped back, his hand falling from her face, then turned and left the room. Damaris released a long, shaky breath and leaned against the footboard of the bed until her heart returned to its usual rate. It was, she thought, a very good thing that she would be back in London this evening and not trapped in a bedchamber with Alec.
She heard the sound of voices and the clatter of dishes, and a moment later a timid scratching at the door proved to be Babs’s oldest girl, Maud, informing her with a shy smile that breakfast was on the table. Donning a pretense of calm, Damaris followed her into the large room at the front of the house.
The Putnams were gathered around a sturdy wood table on one side of the room, with Alec seated in the place of honor at the head of the table. The spot to his left had been left vacant, obviously for Damaris. She scarcely glanced at Alec as she slid into her seat, for fear that what she felt would be clear on her face for everyone to see. She wasn’t sure how she would get through the meal.
But, as it turned out, it was difficult to remain tense in the midst of the cheerful, chattering Putnam brood. Damaris soon relaxed and dug into her food with relish, finding that it provided her a good deal of amusement to watch Alec, accustomed to gold charger plates and servants at his elbow dishing out his food, as he adjusted to spooning out porridge from a large bowl passed all around or receiving a hunk of bread from a child’s hand. He glanced over at Damaris after one particularly unnerving moment involving young Jem, a slab of butter, and a jar of jam, and surprised her by grinning like a boy.
She smiled back, her hand going out impulsively to his wrist, and he turned his hand, taking her palm in his. His hand swallowed hers, warm and strong, and happiness bubbled up in Damaris, as light and airy as summer, utterly at odds with their stranded circumstances.
After breakfast, Mr. Putnam went out to hitch his team to the wagon, and Alec went into the bedroom to change into the farmer’s clothes. While Babs and the girls cleared the table, Damaris made herself useful by wiping it clean. She had just finished and was about to take the damp cloth back to Mrs. Putnam when she saw Alec emerging from the bedroom.
A snort escaped her at the sight of his long, elegant form clad in Putnam’s loose cotton farming smock, though she immediately tried to cover her amusement by dropping her cloth and bending down to retrieve it. On second glance, however, he appeared equally absurd, and she could not keep from dissolving into laughter.
“I fail to see what you find so amusing,” Alec said, drawing himself up in his haughtiest manner.
“Oh, Raw—I mean, Alec, you would not say that if you could see yourself.”
“I did,” he admitted, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That is why I am wearing my own breeches and boots. If you had seen me in the others, you would have howled.”
He settled a shapeless straw hat on his head, and that set Damaris off into another gale of laughter. Alec rolled his eyes and came over to take her arm. “Come, my dear, before our benefactors decide that I helped you escape from Bedlam.”
They bade good-bye to Mrs. Putnam and each of the children. Damaris noticed that Alec managed to slip a halfpenny into each child’s hand as he shook it. He lifted the sack in which he and Damaris had put their other clothes and they walked out to the wagon.
It took them over an hour in the slow-moving wagon to reach the village of Little Fornton, the nearest spot where they could catch a mail coach heading back to London. At Rawdon’s insistence, Putnam set them down near the church, and Alec and Damaris started toward the inn on foot to wait for the mail coach.
“Why did you want him to leave us here?” Damaris asked.
Alec, the sack slung over his shoulder, was carefully watching the street around them. “It is safer that way. I can get a better idea of the lay of the land as we approach the inn.”
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Living your life as if it were a… a campaign?”
He shrugged. “I prefer to know what’s coming at me. It is especially handy when one is running from something.”
“You sound as if you are accustomed to running from things.”
Alec cocked an eyebrow at her. “Mrs. Howard! Are you calling me a coward?”
“Don’t be absurd. You know I am not. In fact, I would almost think that you enjoy a fight.”
“Perhaps I do, at that. But I much prefer a fight where I win, which is easier to do if one plans ahead.” He cut his eyes to her, then went on, “There were some chaps at school who liked to lie in wait for me. That’s how I met Gabriel, you know; he jumped in to help me once.”
“Why did they attack you?”
“I was new. And they took exception to my manner. I may have told them that I had little concern for their opinion.”
“Imagine that.”
“Yes. No doubt you will have trouble believing it of me, but I could be a mite insolent when I was young.”
They had reached the yard of the inn, and Alec paused at the edge, casting a long look around, before they continued to the door. Inside, they slid into a table at the edge of the public room. There were only a few people besides the tapster behind the bar, but every eye in the place turned to look at them. Damaris knew that her face was fairly well hidden by Mrs. Putnam’s bonnet, but neither that nor the clothes Alec had donned could hide the fact that they were strangers here.
They were far too full from Babs’s breakfast to eat, but Alec ordered a glass of porter, and after a few minutes, the other occupants of the room stopped staring at them. Damaris glanced around the room with some interest. She had never been in the public room of an inn before, for when she had traveled, she had, of course, always eaten in one of the small private rooms.
It was smaller than she had expected and rather dark, with only one old mullioned glass window and plaster walls smudged with years of soot from the large fireplace at the far end of the room. The bar along one wall was made of walnut, scarred and nicked and slightly uneven. Damaris looked over at Alec. Despite his clothes, it was clear that he did not belong here. He had turned his ring around so that the square chunk of gold etched with the design was hidden from view, leaving only the plain gold band, but his long fingers were too pale and uncallused, the hands of a man who had worn gloves most of his life. And no one, she thought, could look into that face and not see the generations of aristocrats who had formed it.
Alec stiffened beside her, and she followed his gaze. Two men had walked into the room through the other door and were headed for the bar. Alarm shot through Damaris. Even from the back, she recognized them, and when one of them turned his head to glance toward the fireplace, she was certain. They were two of the men who had accosted them on the road yesterday.
Quick and quiet as a cat, Alec slid out from his chair, settling his hat low on his head. Damaris looked down so that the wide scoop brim of her bonnet would hide her features, and she slipped out after him. Just as Alec whisked her into the hallway, she saw out of the corner of her eye that the attacker was turning toward her. An instant later there was a shout behind them. Alec ran for the door, pulling Damaris after him.
Damaris was glad for the too-short dress Mrs. Putnam had given her, for there
was no danger of its dragging on the ground as they tore across the courtyard. A rider had just dismounted from his horse and handed the reins over to a groom when Damaris and Alec darted toward them. The horse reared, and the groom stumbled back and fell to the ground.
Alec scooped up the reins, tossed Damaris onto the horse’s back, and vaulted into the saddle after her. The groom let out a shout, as did the owner of the horse, but before either of them could reach them, Alec dug his heels into their new mount’s sides and they charged off down the street. Behind them the courtyard erupted into a cacophony of shouts and curses.
Alec shoved the sack he had been carrying into Damaris’s hands. She grasped it with one hand and wrapped her other arm around Alec’s waist, holding on tightly. She was in a far more precarious position than she had been yesterday, for she was sitting sideways, and she could do little but hang on and hope for the best.
Two men standing in the street, chatting, looked up and jumped aside as they raced toward them. A woman leaving a shop shrieked and dropped a package. At the village green, Alec turned their horse up the intersecting road. It, fortunately, was deserted, and they flew unimpeded down the lane toward the church where Putnam had let them off only a few minutes before.
A few yards past the church, Alec pulled the horse up short and slid from his back, reaching up to lift Damaris down, too. He gave the animal a sharp slap on the rear, and it took off at a run. Alec took the sack from Damaris and grabbed her hand, and they raced along the side of the church. Damaris saw now what Alec had apparently noted earlier—a narrow track that led away from the lane and disappeared into a copse of trees no more than fifty yards before them.
Alec flung the sack over his shoulder, and they ran. Damaris did not waste time looking back. If they could reach the trees before their pursuers reached the church, Alec’s ruse would work, at least for a while. Since the men would either have to run on foot or wait for the groom to get their horses, she and Alec just might have enough time to disappear.