His Lady Midnight

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  She sat up straight. “Are you mad?”

  “No, simply exhausted.” He shrugged. “If you do not wish to sleep, Phoebe, I beg your indulgence, for I am ready to journey off to the land of nod.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  “Really, Galen! Kissing me!” Outraged, she turned her back on him and stared out the other window.

  When her shoulders were taken, she gasped as he twisted her back to face him. All mirth had vanished from his voice when he said, “If you think that really was a kiss, I could show you how mistaken you are.”

  She lifted his hands off her shoulders and shoved them away. “If you think this is funny, then you are the one who is mistaken. Save your bon mots for Almack’s, my lord. I have neither the inclination nor the time for them.”

  Phoebe slid as close to the wall of the carriage as she could. Letting her shoulders slump again, she stared out at the stars that were being consumed by a bank of clouds. The silence within the carriage rumbled in her ears more loudly than the sound of the wheels on the uneven road. The weight of all that had happened in the past day ground down onto her head, making it ache as if the carriage had ridden over her.

  She slowly clenched her hands, longing to hear Galen speak to her, to apologize or to comfort her or even to fire another comment at her again.

  When she heard his breathing slow, she closed her eyes. She had never felt so lost and alone.

  Five

  Galen picked his way across the muddy yard of the inn. The carriage was not as badly damaged as he had feared when they had almost lost a wheel in a rut. Only the skill of his coachee, Alfred, had kept the carriage from tipping over.

  As it was, a pain slashed Galen’s right elbow each time he moved his arm. He suspected Phoebe had injured her left ankle, although she said she was unhurt, because she had been limping when he helped her out of the carriage. She had tried to hide her uneven steps from him, but he had been watching closely.

  His smile returned. He liked watching her walk. The sway of her skirt was as assertive as her belief that she could bring about a change in the country’s laws with her simple act of defiance. Mayhap if he had not indulged himself in observing her as much, he would have missed seeing the slight unsteadiness in her steps.

  When his foot hit a broken wooden bucket that careened ahead of him, Galen paid more mind to where he was walking. He could barely see in the deepening twilight. He would have preferred driving to a better inn, but this one was the closest. Alfred had needed every bit of his skill in the box to get them this far, and Galen had not wanted to chance the carriage on unfamiliar roads in the dark.

  “How is the carriage? Is it repairable?” asked Phoebe as he came up the stairs to the wide porch.

  He took her arm and steered her with cautious, slow steps toward the inn’s door and away from the eager eyes of the men who were loitering in front of the porch, talking about the day’s work. “Why are you remaining outside? You should have gotten somewhere out of sight as quickly as you could.”

  “I did not want to come inside alone.”

  Galen was about to remonstrate with her again, then looked around the interior of the inn. It consisted of one large public room and a passage that vanished into the shadows. The stone floor had not been washed recently, even though there were pools of liquid in every depression. He decided it was wiser not to try to determine what they were.

  “Alfred said he should have the carriage fixed by morning,” he said.

  “By morning? You expect me—I mean, you expect us to stay in this place tonight?”

  “Where else? The stables?”

  “They can hardly be worse,” she said with a shudder.

  Galen laughed tightly. “You can say that simply because you haven’t seen them.” He raised his voice as the shadows became a form. “Good evening, sir.”

  The dark-haired innkeeper eyed them both, appraising the value of their clothes, no doubt. With Galen’s cloak hiding Phoebe’s once-elegant gown, the short man would not be able to guess she was a lady fleeing the authorities.

  “We need a place in which to stay tonight,” Galen said quietly.

  “For you and the missus?” the innkeeper asked in a low grunt.

  “Yes.”

  Phoebe stared at Galen, wondering if he had lost what little sense he had left. For a man who professed that he would rather speak the truth, he was telling too many out-and-outers.

  “This way,” said the innkeeper, holding his hand out as he named the price for the room.

  Galen dropped several coins in the man’s hand, then put his arm around Phoebe to steer her after the innkeeper. “Don’t even say it,” Galen murmured.

  “Say what?” She concentrated on trying to keep as much weight as possible off her left ankle. If she was not careful, the tiny twinge became a piercing pain.

  “That you intend to repay me as soon as you can,” he replied.

  She wondered how many more ways he could discern her thoughts and still miss so many. Yes, she had wanted to tell him last night that she would repay him—eventually—for the money he had given Mrs. McBlain, as well as the food he had bought for them earlier today.

  “It is not necessary,” he said in the same near whisper as they walked through a narrow, twisting corridor that was lit by two windows that gave a view of a kitchen garden. It might be neat or filled with weeds, for the darkness hid most of it.

  “I do like to even my debts,” she replied softly.

  “It seems as if you are in the business of balancing debts, and that is what has gotten you into such a shocking mull.”

  Phoebe did not answer as the innkeeper opened a door and said, “First door on the left, sir.”

  She stared at the dimly lit staircase behind the door. She bit back her moan at the thought of climbing it when her ankle was so sore.

  A bit of the sound must have escaped because Galen said, “Let me help.”

  “I should be fine.”

  “I would like to help.”

  She nodded, not wanting to get into a brangle with him when the innkeeper was avidly listening to each word they spoke. When Galen bent to lift her up into his arms, she saw anguish slip across his face.

  “I can get up the stairs on my own,” she whispered, too aware of the innkeeper watching.

  “Now that I have you here, don’t move. It will irritate my elbow more.” He began up the narrow stairs.

  Leaning her head against his chest, so she would not bang it on the wall, she said, “You are being jobbernowl to carry me like this when you are going to exacerbate the injury that clearly has been done to your arm.”

  “I told you that I shall be fine as long as you do not move.”

  “Are you certain that you shall be fine?”

  He stepped up into the passage at the top of the stairs and carried her through an open door. Shoving the door closed with his foot, he gave her the rakish smile that she guessed had melted many hearts before hers. Icy dismay clutched her anew when he laughed and said, “Holding you makes me feel very, very fine, Phoebe.”

  “Has anyone told you that you are incorrigible?”

  “A few people.”

  “How about irritating?”

  “A few more.”

  “And vexing?”

  “Yes, they have told me that as well as informing me that I can be exasperating and incomprehensible and simply bothersome.”

  When he set her on the bed, which was the only piece of furniture beneath the room’s slanting ceiling, save for a washstand where a single candle burned, she bounced to her feet. A moan burst from her as she foolishly put weight onto her ankle.

  “You would be wiser to sit and not hurt yourself,” Galen said, loosening his cravat. “You must own that it would be better for my arm not to have to tote you back down the stairs on the morrow.”

  “There will be no need for you to do so.” She undid his cloak and draped it over the footboard. On top of it, she placed the dress he had pulled out o
f the poor box for her. She longed to have a chance to get clean and put it on.

  He faced her and smiled. “You should not get in such a pelter, Phoebe, simply because I gave you a kiss on the cheek.”

  “It was a most unseemly thing to do,” she answered, glad that they finally were speaking of what had happened last night. In such a short time, Galen had become a necessary part of her life. She did not want him angry at her, because she was not sure when she might have to trust him as completely as she did the others who helped her.

  “Odd, for, to me, it seemed the proper thing to do when you were obviously so distressed.” He closed the distance between them with one step.

  When she backed away, she bumped her head on the low ceiling. “Very well. I shall accept your apology, and we shan’t speak of this again.”

  “Apology? I do not recall apologizing.”

  “I thought …” Phoebe took a deep, steadying breath. “You are the most annoying man I have ever met.”

  “Ah, I have heard other people say that as well.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “And you are proving to be more interesting all the time, Phoebe.”

  “Interesting?”

  He smiled at her. “The Lady Phoebe I had heard discussed during various assemblies was always lauded as a woman who was quiet and kept much to herself. There was some question if she might be an unredeemable bluestocking who had no interest in the gatherings of the ton, for she often left them not soon after she arrived.”

  “People have said that?” She pressed her hand over her heart, which faltered in midbeat. “I had no idea that anyone had taken note of my leaving.”

  “Each member of the ton notices everything in hopes of learning something of interest before someone else does. That you have slipped away more than once without explanation seems to have caught several eyes.” His grin became mischievous. “Do you wish to know where they think you are going?”

  “Your expression suggests it is a place that a lady should not speak of.”

  “A lover’s arms is a place many ladies speak of.”

  “Oh.” Heat soared up her face.

  “You cannot let your chagrin at breaking the law persuade you that others might have guessed the truth. I must own, Phoebe, that, at first, I had assumed you were fleeing from some lover when you abducted me along with my carriage. I could not guess another reason you might be out at midnight in such a place.”

  “That is a relief.” She started to smile, but her smile vanished when he drew her down to sit beside him. When she would have jumped to her feet, horrified to be perched on a bed with a man who was little more than a stranger—and a notorious one at that—he kept her next to him. His strong arm curved around her waist.

  When his fingers encountered a rip in the side of her gown, they slipped into it. Fear erupted through her. He had been a gentleman when they were in London. Recalling the stories she had heard of his dalliances with other women, she berated herself as a goose. He might only have agreed to bring her from Town so he could treat her with such boorishness.

  “Galen, stop!”

  “Stop? I have not started anything.”

  “You are being overly presumptuous!”

  His brows shot up. “In what way?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean just what I said.” His lips twitched. “Just what I asked.”

  She plucked his fingers away from her. “I think you are pushing the bounds of propriety by reaching beneath my gown.” Fire scored her face at her own crude words.

  “Beneath your gown? I would never presume to treat a lady so.”

  “But your fingers were here where no gentleman’s would be.” She pointed to the tear in her dress.

  His eyes widened, then he chuckled. “What is your dress made of, Phoebe?”

  “Silk.”

  “And your undergarments?” He laughed again. “Do not blush at such a prosaic question.”

  “It is an impertinent question.”

  “Mayhap, but I do believe I have a right to ask it when you have already labeled me a scoundrel and have given me not the slightest chance to defend myself.”

  “You are glib, my lord.”

  “And you are avoiding giving me an answer, my lady. Could it be because you realize that you have misjudged me? That because both your gown and your undergarment are made of silk, what you called my presumptuous action was nothing more than an innocent error.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Forgive me. You are quite right.”

  He put his arm around her again, cupping her chin with his other hand. Slanting toward her, he murmured, “Trust me, Phoebe. If it had been anything other than a mistake, you would not have been the only one who was aware of where my fingers were.”

  “You should not speak so. Even in jest.”

  “’Twas no jest. You are a beautiful woman. What man can resist playing your hero?”

  “I do owe you a debt, Galen, for all you have done for me.”

  Instantly he drew back, but kept his arm around her shoulder. “Is obligation the only reason you let me hold you even this chastely?”

  “Should there be another? I barely know you, and I do not make it a habit to be found in strangers’ arms. Let me go, please.”

  “You are the one who said I am no gentleman, Phoebe.”

  “You certainly are no gentleman if you taunt me when I am fearful about what has happened to my household.”

  “To own the truth, at a time like this, when I am with a beautiful woman in an inn beyond the environs of London, I should be kissing her warm lips.” When she gasped at his brazen words, he added, “However, you do not need to be fearful. I assure you, that despite your fears to the contrary, I am very much of a gentleman, and you shall leave this inn with your virtue intact.”

  When he chuckled, her face became stiff with fury. She should have heeded the tales she had heard about him and spun him a tale of a tryst gone bad. Then he would have taken her home to Grosvenor Square and taken his leave.

  Phoebe shivered at that thought. If she had been at home when those three men who had been chasing called, she was not sure what would have happened. She had talked herself out of difficult situations since she had embarked on this attempt to save those who had done so little wrong. She had to be grateful that Galen had been so nice as to offer her a way to flee.

  From under her lowered eyelashes, she regarded him. No, nice was not the word for Galen Townsend. With his eyes that missed nothing around him, he reminded her of the sleek tiger cat that ruled the barn on her family’s country estate. The cat never tried to subdue those around him with his claws, but all knew under his purring, self-satisfied exterior was a fierce fighter that would protect his domain. The comparison made her even more uncomfortable.

  Galen stood.

  She looked up at him, wrenched from her uneasy thoughts. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I thought I might find something for us to eat while you take a nap.”

  “I am not sleepy.”

  “Not sleepy?” He frowned as his hands settled on her shoulders. “If I did not know you better, I would say you were quite mad, Phoebe.”

  “Know me better? You do not know me at all!”

  “I suspect I know you better than most people do, because you have divulged to me the most precious secrets you keep in your heart.” He smiled. “That is why I know you should get some rest now while you can.”

  “I cannot sleep.” She came to her feet. “I am too worried about my friends. I know Johnson—”

  “Who?”

  “My butler Johnson. He would have answered the door to those three beastly men.”

  “You are worrying needlessly about your allies. They should be quite safe because without you, there is no proof of any wrongdoing.”

  “That is true. Why have I not thought of that?”

  “Because you have not slept in two days.”

  “I cannot when I worry so for them. It is an unending circle
I cannot escape.”

  “If you do not sleep, you will make a mistake.”

  Phoebe limped to the room’s single window. She opened it, but odors from the open sewer at the back of the inn shoved through. Closing it again, she sighed. “I have already made a terrible mistake, Galen. If I had trusted Jasper to handle those men alone, he might not have been hurt and those we had planned to help would be on their way somewhere safe in England.”

  “Have you considered how many times you have eluded trouble and assisted those who had no one else to turn to?” His voice warned he was right behind her. Before she had a chance to react, he turned her to face him. With a single fingertip, he tipped her chin up so her gaze met his. “And how many you hope to help in the future?”

  “Why are you helping me?” she whispered. “Your title will offer you no more protection than mine.”

  “I cannot keep from admiring you for doing what you believe is right, even though everyone else would condemn you.”

  “As you do with your brother?”

  He recoiled as if she had struck him. When she put her hand out to him, he walked back to sit on the bed. Her outstretched fingers curled into a fist, and she slowly lowered it to her side.

  “I should not repeat gossip I have heard either,” Phoebe said, hobbling back the few steps to where he sat. “I know how many untruths there are amidst the hints of truth.”

  “But the fact that my brother is worrisome to me is true.”

  She knelt beside where he was sitting, trying not to groan as she moved her leg. “I am sorry to bring up this subject which clearly bothers you.”

  “It is not easy to be thought of as addle-witted.”

  “Kindness is never addle-witted.”

  “The exact response I would have expected from you.” His voice took on a jaunty tone as he said, “I am hungry, but I do not wish to go downstairs and leave you alone while you change.”

  “What?”

  He pointed to the door. “The latch on that would be easily overmastered by anyone intent on getting in here. I doubt you would be interested in meeting an intruder while you are dressed in your smallclothes.” A devilish twinkle came into his eyes. “Your silk smallclothes.”