by Julia Kelly
“You’re not a governess,” he said.
“I swear as I live and breathe that I am,” she said, the corners of her eyes still crinkled in amusement.
He crossed his arms in a mirror of hers. “Then you certainly can’t travel with me. Your reputation is just as fragile as any young lady’s. You’ll be ruined if anyone finds out that you traveled alone with a man.”
She arched a brow. “And I won’t be ruined if it’s discovered I’ve lost my charge? If I don’t find Lady Margaret, I’ll be dismissed without a letter of reference. I can promise you that I’ll never find employment in England again, because who would want to hire the governess who can’t control the young lady she was supposed to be minding?”
She was right. Damn it, she was right. He might’ve lost Merlin when her Lady Margaret ran off in the night, but this woman had further to fall than he.
“I can see your point,” he conceded with a sigh. It appeared that he was losing this argument whether he liked it or not.
She had the good manners to look only slightly smug. “What if we strike a deal?”
“What sort of a deal?” he asked, still a little bowled over by this shrewdly dealing woman who happened to look like the perfect English rose. It was fortunate that ladies with her genteel manners weren’t allowed in London’s gaming halls because she would’ve been a menace at the table, widening those huge, innocent eyes while efficiently fleecing everyone out of their winnings by the end of the night.
“Agree to take me along to find Lady Margaret, and I’ll tell you where I think she’s heading. You’ll do better with me by your side anyway,” she said.
He already knew he was caving, but still he asked, “How’s that?”
The lady shrugged. “I know her. You can be certain she’s not traveling under her name, and since you don’t know what she looks like, she’ll be hard to spot.”
That was unfortunately an excellent point.
“We would be traveling swiftly,” he warned.
“I can ride quite well, considering.”
“Considering what?” he asked sharply.
A light dusting of the most appealing pink flushed over her cheeks. “It’s just an expression.”
He could tell she was lying and so he pushed again. “It will be hard on the road. If I’m to chase this Lady Margaret, we won’t be stopping at inns every time it begins to rain, and since it’s March it will rain. Cold, miserable rain that goes on for hours.”
The woman lifted her chin. “I will have you know that I’m not some delicate flower.”
Oh, but she looked like one. She was fine boned and straw blond—a ray of sunlight on the first day of spring. Her lips were as red as cherries in the snow, and her carriage betrayed her natural elegance. She made a man want to ride up on his steed like Saint George, brandishing a broadsword and proclaiming he was ready to fight for her. Except he suspected she didn’t need his help at all when it came to slaying dragons.
Knowing that he was probably making a huge mistake, Nicholas sent up a plea to whichever god looked after men who found themselves outsmarted by pretty women. “Fine. You can come with.”
“I’m so glad you’ve come ’round,” she said, losing the fight against the smile that threatened to spread over her lips. She looked positively delighted, as though he’d asked her to take a jaunt in a riverboat on a sunny day rather than ride like the devil through the Midlands.
“We’ll see how glad you are when you spend all day in the saddle,” he said with another look at the sky. “I’d bet five pounds it’s going to rain.”
She followed his gaze and frowned, little lines etching her otherwise smooth forehead. “Well, it isn’t as though the day could get any worse.”
Chapter Two
Jane allowed herself twenty seconds of pure, unadulterated triumph over the handsome man who’d just agreed to become her traveling companion. Then she slipped back into her usual governess mode: quiet bossiness disguised by a thin layer of deference.
“When do you propose we leave, sir?” she asked.
“As soon as you tell me where you think your Lady Margaret has gone with my horse.”
She was almost certain she knew. Jane had worked for the Earl of Rawson for a little more than ten years now. She’d practically grown up with Lady Margaret, as she’d been barely eighteen when she accepted her position, and she knew the young lady as well as she knew herself. She could anticipate her charge’s needs and guess what she was thinking. That’s why it was so surprising that she’d missed the signs that Lady Margaret was planning to slip off in the night. She almost had to admire the young woman’s caginess.
Almost.
“Lady Margaret will have left a note,” she declared.
“A note?”
She nodded. “I’m certain of it. She’s reckless, but she’s not cruel. She knows I’d worry about her.” Never mind that Jane also wanted to shake Lady Margaret until her teeth rattled for causing all of this bother.
“Where would this note be?” he asked.
“I was so wrapped up in her leaving that I didn’t even make a proper check of the room.” She nodded to the inn’s front door. “Come.”
“I should make arrangements for horses,” he said, taking a half step toward the stable.
“No,” she said a little sharper than was perhaps necessary. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t trust you not to ride off without me.”
He actually looked taken aback. “I would never do that. As a gentleman—”
“Whom I don’t know,” she said, hands on her hips.
He shook his head, sending a lock of hair spilling over his forehead again. “You trust me enough to travel with me, but you don’t trust me to saddle a pair of horses?”
“Precisely.”
It didn’t make any sense—and was possibly the most idiotic rationalization she’d ever made—but that was about the gist of it. Now that he’d dropped the riding crop and wasn’t yelling quite so brutishly, there was something in his manner that put her at ease. He had a way about him—respectful but also firm—as though he knew exactly where the lines were drawn between man and gentleman, and he wouldn’t cross them. But that didn’t mean he was without his faults, and she wasn’t willing to risk him changing his mind about their tenuous agreement.
Fortunately he threw his hands up and said, “I’m at your mercy. Lead the way, madam.”
She turned, her chest a little puffed up with her victory. This was a good sign. She’d find Lady Margaret, and soon, for the young lady couldn’t have gotten far even on as fearsome a horse as this man described. She’d swear her charge to secrecy and get them both to Holmesfield Hall as planned. And as soon as everything was settled, Jane would send out letters looking for a new position. She knew it was wrong to leave Lady Margaret when she was just eighteen and still wild, but she wasn’t going to put her survival in the hands of a foolhardy young lady. This wasn’t the first time she’d gone chasing after the girl—literally or figuratively—but it would be the last.
Jane led her companion through the inn’s dining room and had her foot on the first step when a thought struck her. She hadn’t remembered seeing a note anywhere in the room when she’d done a quick survey of it, and there was no reason for Lady Margaret to hide it, for her absence would already have caused panic. No, the note—if it existed—was somewhere else. Or with someone else.
“Wait,” Jane said, stopping so quickly that the man’s knee brushed the back of her skirts, sending a pesky little rush of heat surging through her. She tried her best to ignore it as she spun, ducked around him, and made straight for the door behind the dining room’s counter.
The industrious clatter of a working kitchen met her, but the noise slowed when the innkeeper’s wife spotted her. “Can I help you, madam?”
“I’m looking for Sally. It’s urgent I
speak to her,” she said.
The woman looked from her to her new travel companion and back to her again. “What’s she gotten into this time?”
“She’s not in any sort of trouble,” Jane said as soothingly as she could.
The innkeeper’s wife gave a little grunt as she went back to kneading a large mound of dough. “And the queen’s going to waltz in and take a table for two tonight. Whatever she’s done or told you, you can believe she’s lying. That’s all that girl does.”
“Even so,” Jane said, not bothering to hide the plea in her voice.
“Sally!” the woman bellowed over her shoulder toward an open door.
Hard-soled boots clacked against the stone floor as Sally slunk out of what looked to be a storeroom. The moment she spotted Jane, her expression turned sour. “What do you want? I’ve already told you everything I know.”
With ten years of experience dealing with a willful charge, Jane simply raised an eyebrow and stared the girl down. “Now, that’s not entirely true, is it?”
Sally shifted her weight back and forth. Then, after a moment’s consideration, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a scrap of paper, and shuffled a few steps closer to hand it over.
Jane slid a shaky finger under the unsealed flap and unfolded the paper. Sure enough, Lady Margaret’s looping script covered the page in a few bold lines.
Dear Miss Ephram,
I know you’ll think me ever so wicked when you read this note, but please don’t judge me too harshly. James and I are very much in love. I cannot live without him. I hope you understand why I’ve done what I’ve done, and I only ask that you give us a chance at happiness.
Yours,
M.S.
“Oh, you stupid girl,” she muttered. “Stupid, stupid girl.”
“M.S.?” her travel companion asked, his breath stirring the hairs on the back of her neck. It was only then that she realized how he loomed over her, leaning down so they were close. Too close. She didn’t know how she could’ve missed the pulse of heat off his body or the way his thoroughly masculine scent wrapped around her.
She took a little step to the side so that she wouldn’t turn right in to his chest when she faced him—appealing though that thought might be. “Lady Margaret Simon, daughter of the Earl of Rawson.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Now I understand why you’re so eager to track her down.”
She nodded grimly. Everyone knew the family. Lord Rawson was one of the north’s richest landholders, and his daughter was one of the prize heiresses of the season—her second because last year she’d turned down four offers of marriage and her father had driven away another half dozen on her behalf. Only the very best would do for his daughter, and the earl had already made it clear that Mr. James Lawrence with his fortune-hunting reputation wasn’t even in the running.
“I take it she’s headed for Gretna Green’s anvil priests,” he said.
“A speedy marriage in Scotland where no one will ask for her father’s consent.” She moaned. “What’s she thinking?”
“She’s in love, if that’s anything to go by,” he said, gesturing at the letter.
Jane scoffed. “Lady Margaret’s declared herself in love with every single eligible man she’s crossed paths with since she was presented at court eighteen months ago. She keeps them following her around like ducklings until she tires of them. Then she casts them aside as carelessly as a torn ball gown.”
“But she’s run off with this one,” he pointed out.
“The one who made her parents so angry they banished her to the country during the height of the season. No, she doesn’t love Mr. Lawrence any more than the others; she’s sticking with him because someone’s told her she can’t have something she wants.”
“You make her sound as though she’s a child.”
Sometimes I wonder if she isn’t.
Rather than give full force to her annoyance, Jane tilted her chin up. They needed to get on the road if they were ever to catch Lady Margaret. “Shall we be going?”
He took a moment to study her. The open scrutiny of her features under his piercing gray-blue eyes was almost too much. His gaze seemed to stroke over her body like a set of hands, soothing and exploring, all while trying to figure her out. Finally he inclined he head and said, “One last question.”
“What is it?”
“What’s your name?”
Oh Lord, she didn’t even know this man’s name, and she was prepared to go racing up to Gretna Green with him as though she were the one eloping. Everything about this was backward, and she couldn’t help but wish she could crawl back onto her uncomfortable little cot, pull the quilt over her head, and dream it all away.
Except she couldn’t will away her problems any more than she could stay standing still. Too much depended on finding Lady Margaret as quickly as possible.
Jane gripped the sides of her dress and dipped into a small curtsey. “Miss Jane Ephram. Governess.”
The man clicked his heels together and executed a bow that would have looked right at home in a duchess’s ballroom. “Lord Nicholas Hollings. Baron.”
Baron? Jane’s pulse kicked up a little higher. She’d had no doubt that he was a gentleman, but one with a title?
It was Lord Hollings who broke the awkward silence first. “Well, Miss Ephram. Shall we retrieve your things?”
He presented his arm with a little ironic raise of his eyebrow. Reluctantly, she laid her hand in its crook and let him lead her from the kitchen.
Upstairs, Lord Hollings stood outside her door as she retrieved her bag. The next stop was a quick word to the earl’s coachman and Elspeth about how it had also been their responsibility to make sure that Lady Margaret arrived at Holmesfield Hall safely. They all shouldered the blame, so it wasn’t difficult to get the two to agree to press on to Yorkshire but stop a few towns out from the estate and wait for word at an inn. Jane and Lady Margaret would rendezvous with the servants as soon as they were reunited. In the meantime, she’d concoct an explanation for why they’d been delayed. If she was lucky, a very convenient, very English rainstorm might wash out a road and provide her with the perfect excuse. She was due for a little bit of luck after the morning she was having.
In the innyard, Lord Hollings moved swiftly, securing a mount for her and tacking up his own horse he’d ridden while on his trip to deliver the mythical Merlin wherever they were due. He moved with the easy confidence of a man who was most comfortable in this world of oiled leather saddles, bridles, and currycombs. His hands moved swiftly as he placed his horse’s pad and saddle, adjusting them with a couple of quick movements. Once his horse was saddled, he inspected her mount and flipped up the flap covering the girth strap’s buckles to check the give, even though the inn’s stable boy had just done the same. Then he placed his hand on the neck of her mare, settling the animal.
“Come on, then,” he said, tossing a look over his shoulder.
Jane stared up at the sidesaddle. She hadn’t been lying when she told him that she could ride—she’d learned enough so when her charges asked her to join them she could slowly make her way across a country green—but that didn’t mean she particularly enjoyed the experience.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
She bit the inside of her lip but shook her head. Confessing that she’d never really graduated beyond being a nervous horsewoman would be an admission of weakness and just the sort of ammunition he’d need to shoot down her insistence that she join him on this trip. “I’m just thinking about how stiff I’ll be when the day is done.”
A little smile touched his lips. It was such a small thing, but in it was a warmth she hadn’t seen from him yet. Humor crinkled the edges of his eyes, and his expression was somehow softer. Lord Hollings looked like the sort of man a woman could lose all sense over.
She shoved aside th
e thought and the attraction that accompanied it. The baron had one job: to escort her safely to Lady Margaret. That was all. He wasn’t going to be anything more than that, no matter how easily she could fantasize about the graze of his lips over the sensitive skin at the base of her neck.
“I think you’re afraid,” he said, his tone almost teasing.
The butterflies in her stomach took flight, and for a moment she could imagine what it might be like if she were bold enough to flirt coquettishly, as she’d seen Lady Margaret do since the girl was old enough to understand that holding a gentleman’s attention could be a pleasurable thing.
“Quite the contrary,” she said, forcing her chin up a little higher than usual. “The only thing I’m frightened of, sir, is your manners. A gentleman would never question a lady’s courage.”
A full grin broke out over Lord Hollings’s face. “Well, in that case . . .”
Before she could protest, the baron wrapped his arms around her midsection and swept her up in the air. It was breathtaking, this feeling of weightlessness with a man’s firm grip on her. Time seemed to slow to let her luxuriate in the moment. And then, just as suddenly, her backside hit the hard leather of her sidesaddle and jolted sense back into her.
She cleared her throat, hoping that Lord Hollings was too polite to notice she was blushing like a schoolgirl.
“Next time I’d appreciate a less direct approach,” she said, trying to force a degree of frostiness into her voice and jam a wedge between the two of them.
He reached out to pet her horse’s neck again. “I’m merely assisting. I thought you were eager to get on the road.”
“I am, but a mounting block would’ve meant that it could have been done without manhandling me.”
Mischief danced in his eyes. “That wasn’t manhandling.”
“Then what would you call it?”
He leaned in. “Miss Ephram, I can assure that if I were to manhandle you, you’d know.”