“It is not my honesty that should concern you,” she said, clasping her handkerchief in her hand. “It is your atrocious taste in deceitful women. I grant you, some ladies have a talent for lying, but it does not make them exceptionally clever.”
“I have offended you. Pray, forgive me for speaking so bluntly.”
Lord Kempthorn did not seem particularly repentant for his comments.
“Perhaps I will when you offer me a sincere apology.”
He softly chuckled. “There is no reason for you to sharpen your claws on me, Miss Lydall. I happen to like deceitful women.”
If he thought to appease her with his explanation, he was sorely mistaken. “I suppose this is why your mother laments that you will remain a bachelor.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because no decent lady will marry you,” she said flatly.
Lord Kempthorn brought the back of his hand to his lips to muffle his mirth. “Paragons are a bore, Miss Lydall. I prefer a devious creature who will entertain me in public as well as in private.”
A soft gasp escaped her lips. His expression was one of anticipation, as if he dared her to respond to his impertinent declaration.
“Then it is fortunate the ton has many ambitious coquettes in its ranks,” she said, offering him a smile that held little warmth. “I would wish you luck, but I shall reserve it for your future bride.”
“Claws … and now teeth,” Lord Kempthorn mused out loud. “Gideon worries you do not have the temperament for Town life, but I predict you will surprise all of us.”
“Your brother need not watch over me,” she muttered, offended that the earl and his brother viewed her as a guileless child. “I can manage on my own.”
“We will save that debate for another time,” he said carelessly. “Your coloring has improved. Why don’t you close your eyes and try to sleep a little before our next stop.”
Olivia was about to protest, but Lord Kempthorn shut his eyes, signaling that their conversation had come to an end. She could not believe the audacity of the gentleman, she thought, even as she leaned back and complied with his order.
As she settled down to sleep, it occurred to her that arguing with the earl had restored some of her strength, and most of the nausea seemed to have faded. She wondered if Lord Kempthorn had deliberately set out to distract her to ease her discomfort.
She was still puzzling over the possibility when she finally drifted off to sleep.
* * *
The rigid schedule of the stagecoach had doused the high spirits of the occupants, even that of Lady Felstead. Mercifully, their current stop would last longer than five minutes and included a brief repast at the Salty Briar, though he doubted anyone would complain about the quality of the food. Everyone was too damn weary to summon the strength.
Thorn was the last to disembark from the stagecoach. Gideon stood several yards away from him and stretched. Both of them watched their mother and sister greet Chance’s wife, Lady Arabella, and the Duke and Duchess of Blackbern in the courtyard. Chance and his sister were not with the others, but there were other personal needs that required attention besides an empty stomach.
“I am starving,” Gideon said, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he yawned.
“We have less than twenty minutes,” Thorn cautioned, his gaze settling on his mother and the others. He observed them as they entered the inn.
His brother yawned again. “Plenty of time to fill my stomach and empty my”—he glanced around to make certain there was no female within hearing distance—“well, you know what I mean.”
“Tend to your needs and be quick about it,” Thorn advised. “The ladies will also require a few moments of privacy and I do not want to leave any of them without a male escort.”
Between the coordinated efforts of Thorn, Gideon, Chance, and the duke, the four gentlemen had managed to watch over the ladies and discourage any man who wandered too close.
“What are you planning to do?” Gideon asked.
“Join the others,” Thorn replied. “Unless you need an escort?”
“I will pass on your generous offer,” his brother said, looking up at the sky. A drop of rain struck his cheek and he wiped it away. “It appears we will not escape the rain after all.”
“It is all the more reason for us to be ready to depart when the horn blows.”
Gideon waved dismissively at the mere hint of an impending lecture and wandered off in the direction of where he assumed he would find the outhouse.
Several raindrops splashed against his hat and his shoulders. Nodding to the coachman, he headed in the direction of the inn when it occurred to him that one lady had been missing from their party.
Miss Lydall.
Leave it to the independent miss to amble about the inn on her own.
* * *
Olivia sagged against one of the outer buildings as she struggled not to retch. Pressing her handkerchief to her lips, she closed her eyes and willed her unruly stomach not to rebel. In that moment, she could not recall ever feeling this miserable in her life. The long hours in the stagecoach had given her aching muscles and a head stuffed with cotton.
Her eyes snapped open in distress. She wrapped her arms around her abdomen and leaned forward to retch.
“Dear god, are you ill?”
Olivia groaned. Naturally, it would have to be him. Her humiliation was complete. “Go away,” she pleaded without glancing in the direction of the approaching gentleman. “Let me suffer with my dignity intact.”
She leaned forward and retched again. The muscles in her throat constricted to rid her stomach of its contents, but nothing came up. She flinched away from the masculine hand on her back.
“Please,” Olivia mumbled, her body trembled and strained. “I cannot fight you and my stomach.”
A strong arm curled around her waist and pulled her against a solid front of unyielding male. “Then don’t,” he murmured, his lips against her ear. “Permit me to lend you my strength until you regain yours.”
“Oh god.”
A few tears were squeezed from her tightly shut eyes as she bowed and retched again. The muscles in her abdomen continued to spasm until her stomach felt like a fist. A few minutes later, she straightened and allowed her unwelcomed companion to hold her.
“When was the last time you had something to eat or to drink?” he quietly asked.
“I do not remember,” she replied weakly. “Nor do I care.”
He remained silent for a minute.
“You cannot continue without eating something, Olivia.”
Olivia. Not Miss Lydall. Well, it appeared fate had sent her Gideon instead of Lord Kempthorn. Her relief gave her the strength to stand without her companion’s assistance.
“I am not an invalid, Gideon,” she muttered, gently pushing his arm away and stepping out of his embrace.
“You could have fooled me,” he said, his voice sharpening in anger. “You should have told one of us that you were ill.”
Lord Kempthorn had suspected that she had fallen ill during their journey. For some unfathomable reason, he had refrained from revealing her weakened condition to the others.
“I am not sick,” Olivia said, moistening her dry lips with her tongue. “I do not possess the constitution to travel long distances by coach. I never have.”
“Why the devil did you not speak up when we discussed this in your father’s library?” Gideon thundered, sounding too much like his brother for her sensibilities.
“I tried.” When he remained silent, she felt compelled to add, “I did try to decline your family’s generous invitation, but no one listened to me.”
She extended her hand, noting it was raining.
Gideon was not satisfied with her explanation. “I was there. I do not recall you telling us that traveling by stagecoach would make you ill.”
Olivia glared at him. “I was ashamed to admit such weakness.” Especially, in front of your brother. “Nor
did I wish to offend your mother.”
“Or travel with Lady Grisdale,” he added.
A faint smile lightened her grim countenance. “I saw that as a boon as well.”
Gideon did not return her smile. He studied her face in silence. After a minute, he said, “It appears the spell has passed. You need to come indoors and eat something.”
“I cannot.” She anticipated the protest rising within him and met it directly. “There is little time left and I would prefer that the others did not learn that I feel unwell.”
She was too embarrassed to have Lady Felstead fuss over her, or for Lord Kempthorn’s annoyance that she was hindering their journey.
“Olivia—”
“I will eat at a future stop. I promise,” she said, hoping she could keep her word. “If you have no objections, I wish to return to the coach and wait for the others there.”
Gideon looked as if disagreed with her decision, but took a deep breath and released it. “If I cannot dissuade you, then I shall escort you to—”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “That is very kind of you, but it is hardly necessary since our stagecoach is in view.”
“I do not do it out of kindness, Olivia,” he said tersely. “I do it out of necessity. It is not entirely safe for you to be wandering about on your own. This is not your lands or even Malster Park.”
“Very well,” she sighed. There was no point in explaining that her distress had prompted her to leave their party in search of some privacy. “Although, I do not want you to feel obliged to remain. Once you are discharged of your duty, pray join your family for the meal. I promise not to leave the stage again.”
Gideon inclined his head. “As you wish.”
“Thank you.” Olivia started to turn away from him, but she hesitated as another concern surfaced. “Ah, one more thing. I would consider it a small favor if you would not tell the others the true reason I did not join them indoors.”
His eyebrows lifted in mild puzzlement at her request.
“My family would understand, Olivia,” he said gently.
She was certain Lady Felstead would be sympathetic to her plight, but she did not want the marchioness to fuss over her. Nor was she in the mood to share confidences with Gideon on why his brother’s opinion mattered to her.
“I have no doubt they would,” she said firmly. “Nevertheless, there is no reason to disturb anyone. Do you not agree?”
He gave her a measured look. “I will collect on this favor one day.”
“I expect you will.” Her wry grin seemed to startle him. “When you do call in your favor, you will be gentle with me, will you not? Try not to be too onerous.”
He grasped her arm above the elbow to prevent her from slipping on the gravel. “The cost will be as painless as another kiss from your sweet lips,” he assured her.
Was he teasing? A quick glance did not assuage her curiosity. “There is nothing to be gained by kissing me again, you charming rogue. The least you could do is demand something of value.”
“I did not say that I will claim another kiss from you as my prize. I merely pointed out that it will be just as painless as one,” he said before he released her.
It was ridiculous to feel insulted, but she was. “Oh.”
“Besides,” he drawled, allowing her to step away from him, “kissing a lady of quality always comes with great risk. I usually avoid such temptations.”
“An excellent rule,” she said, not looking back at him. “I am certain your restraint has served you well.”
“Not of late,” he replied darkly. “What shall I tell my mother when I join the family?”
“Do what you will.”
Her careless comment made him chuckle.
“I always do, my lady.”
Olivia felt the weight of his gaze on her back as she crossed the remaining distance to the stagecoach. Their conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn, and she welcomed a brief respite from her companions to regain her composure.
It seemed only minutes had passed when a nearby horn blared, a warning to the occupants within the inn that the stagecoach would be departing with or without them. Before the final note had faded, Olivia could hear Lady Felstead’s distinct voice as she conversed with her children.
The door opened and Olivia grasped the marchioness’s extended hand and tightened her hold as she assisted the older woman until she was seated.
“You have my gratitude, my dear.” Lady Felstead exhaled loudly as she pulled her skirt closer to her legs so her daughter would not step on the hem. “The stiffness in my limbs has not eased and it has made me quite clumsy.”
“Rubbish,” Olivia said, too devoted to the lady to allow her to diminish herself in front of her family. “I have never seen anyone more graceful than you, my lady.”
She exchanged a quick friendly grin with Lady Fiona as she settled in beside her mother.
“Did you not vow at the table that you were done with complaints?” her daughter teased.
Lady Felstead huffed, mildly annoyed that she had already broken her promise. “My vow does not count until our departure,” she said, impulsively amending her vow. “Uncharitable child. You could learn a thing or two from Olivia. She has always possessed a sympathetic heart.”
Gideon stepped into the compartment. “Passing out compliments, Mother? Have I earned a few?”
His warm gaze met Olivia’s, and she was relieved that he was willing to feign ignorance about her illness. He sat down opposite her.
“Not of late,” the marchioness declared with a frown marring her pleasant features. “You neglected to join us in the inn.”
He sent her a hooded look. “I wasn’t hungry.”
Lord Kempthorn took that moment to enter the coach. “Excellent. Everyone is here. We are leaving and I have been warned by the coachman that he will not tolerate a delay.”
“You may assure the man that we are ready,” Lady Felstead said, content to believe she was the one who was in charge of their journey.
The earl turned his back on them as he spoke to the coachman standing near the open door.
“And what of you, young lady?” the marchioness asked, staring at Olivia.
She brought her hand to her bosom in a nervous gesture. “Me?” she squeaked.
“You were also absent from the morning repast. And pray do not tell me that you were not hungry,” she said, her eyes sharpening when she noticed Olivia’s grimace. “You have barely eaten this entire journey.”
She had not realized the marchioness had been paying such close attention to her.
“I desired a walk more than a meal, my lady,” she explained, resisting the urge to glance at Gideon. “You are not the only one who is suffering from stiff limbs.”
“Were you with Gideon?”
Olivia visibly flinched when a servant shut and secured the coach’s door. “Ah—”
“No, Olivia was not with me,” Gideon said. Leaning forward, he braced his hands on his knees as the coach lurched and rocked as the horn sounded. “My business was my own and it was private.”
“Do not give me that look, Gideon Netherwood,” his mother ordered in stern tones that she must have used often when the twins were young boys. “Your business is your affair. I am just concerned that Olivia was wandering about the courtyard without an escort.”
Now it was Olivia’s turn to bristle. “With all of the activity in the courtyard, finding a moment of privacy is more of a challenge than you would think.”
Noting her expression, Lady Felstead explained, “I am well aware that you are used to looking after yourself. However, we are far from home and while most of these inns are relatively safe, there could be unsavory characters lurking about in hopes of robbing an unwary passenger.”
Olivia had not been worrying about thieves when she headed for the nearest building. “Forgive me, Lady Felstead, I had not thought my absence would cause you to worry. If it makes you feel better, I did not stray far
from the stagecoach.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” the marchioness said, dismissing the subject with a wave of her hand. “No harm has been done. The next time, I will have one of my boys watch over you.”
“The next time, Miss Lydall will join us in the inn,” Lord Kempthorn interjected, causing Olivia and his mother to gape at him.
“Of course,” Olivia hastily replied. The earl did not wish to be tasked with providing her with a respectable escort. “I am certain I will be hungry for the next meal.”
She smiled to conceal her small lie.
“What is wrong with you?” Gideon asked abruptly.
Her smile dimmed with her annoyance. “Nothing.”
“You get this line”—he brought his finger and lightly touched the space between his eyebrows—“right here—lawks!” He swallowed the rest of his observation when she kicked him in the shin.
“Oh, do forgive me, Mr. Netherwood,” Olivia replied with false sincerity. “I was not braced for that last bump. Did I hurt you?”
Gideon scowled at her as he reached down to rub the sore spot. “Only enough to make your point, wench.”
Olivia glanced in surprise at Lord Kempthorn’s soft chuckle. Bemused, she watched him reach into the inner lining of his coat and retrieve an object wrapped in a linen napkin. He unceremoniously dropped it into her lap.
“What is it?” his sister inquired.
“Some bread from the table,” Lord Kempthorn said, sounding bored with the subject. He adjusted his hat so it covered his eyes. “Stiff limbs are no reason to starve, Miss Lydall. We cannot have you getting sick.”
Olivia glared at Gideon, but he seemed bemused by his brother’s reluctant act of kindness, so she shifted her attention back to the earl. If he sensed her perusal, his slouched posture and expression revealed nothing.
“How very thoughtful of you, Thorn,” his mother said.
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to the linen-covered bread. Her fingers caged the bread as she struggled to sort out her feelings.
Good heavens, it was him.
Gideon had not been the one to find her. It was Lord Kempthorn who had held her while she had been ill. He was the one who had promised to keep her secrets, and then had made certain she had something to eat.
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