“It is a gentleman’s obligation.”
“You have obligations enough without me adding to the weight of your burdens.”
“What does that mean?”
She sat up and looked at him through sleep-heavy eyes. “That, since he almost died, your brother is—”
“My brother?” His eyes narrowed as his brows lowered. “It seems that you have listened to gossip more than you led me to believe.”
“Nonsense. I listened to Alfred.”
“Alfred? What else has he spoken to you of beyond the weather and the conditions of the horses … and Carr?”
Drawing her feet up onto the chair again, she stated, “You should not accuse either me or your coachman of gossiping.”
“Then how did you know about Carr?”
“I may not gossip, Galen, but I cannot avoid hearing it. Half of the Polite World is agog with his adventures in the lowest taverns. The other half is amused by how you are trying to halt them from continuing.”
“Amused?”
She did not lower her gaze. “You must have heard the poker-talk as well.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I would rather not.”
“It is the least you could do.”
Phoebe flinched at his acidic tone. She had not intended to send Galen up into the boughs, but her tired brain had not kept her from saying what she should have not. “Yes, it is, I suppose.”
He sat on the bed, facing her. “Enlighten me.”
“It is said that you are a prime rake.”
“That is about me, not about my brother.”
Phoebe stood, wishing she could shake him and get him to lose that cool expression that suggested he was as heartless as some on dits suggested. “Galen, I do not like repeating gossip.”
“Then speak it but once, and I shall listen.”
For a moment, she hoped he was hoaxing her, but she saw he was not. “Very well. I heard it said at Lord Litten’s house last week that you watch over your brother more closely than an old tough guards her young charge.”
“And?”
“That you are wasting your time, for he is doomed to find trouble, no matter what you do.”
He came to his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. He let his hands fall to his sides as he winced. Because of his elbow or because of his reaction to her words?
“I intend,” he said coolly, “to prove to all the Polite World that they are wrong in that opinion.” He stepped closer to her. “Do you believe what they say?”
“I told you that gossip does not interest me. Your brother is your concern, Galen, while my activities are mine.”
“Activities? You make it sound so innocent.”
“It is when innocent people are being punished so harshly.”
“They are not completely innocent.”
Phoebe let her shoulders ease from her stiff pose. “No, not completely innocent, but surely not deserving of such a punishment.” She stepped away from him. “I do not wish to speak of that or of your brother. We are both too tired to be thinking clearly.”
“You are right.”
“I am glad you agree.”
His arm went around her waist, and he tugged her up against his chest. “I would not do this if I was thinking clearly.”
His mouth slanted across hers as his fingers curved up her back. Her hands rose to push him from her, for she should chide him for being so forward, but somehow they found their way around his shoulders instead. A fire burst forth within her as she dissolved within his luminous kiss. When his mouth slipped along her neck, the aroma of the ale he had been drinking rushed over her, sweeter than any perfume. As her fingers dipped beneath his high collar to curve along his nape, he captured her mouth again.
“No,” she whispered as she drew away from him. “This will only complicate everything more.”
“Yes, it will.” He traced her lower lip that was tender from his feverish kiss.
“I already have too many complications in my life.” She took another step back, then gripped the foot of the bed as her ankle protested.
“I will not kiss you again tonight if you agree to one thing.”
“What is that?”
“That you will sleep in the bed.”
“Galen! You tricked me!”
“I did. So do you agree?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a wry smile. “I was afraid you would say that. I have to own that I never thought I would try to persuade a woman to get into bed by threatening that I would kiss her if she did not.”
She laughed. Although she suspected both his distress at speaking of his brother and the longing she had tasted on his lips were both honest, she knew that tonight she owed him yet another debt.
She hoped she would be able to repay him … somehow.
Seven
Phoebe hid her yawn behind her hand as she stepped down off the bottom step at the front of the inn. She should not complain about not being able to sleep when Galen had spent the night on that uncomfortable chair. Yet finding any escape in her dreams had been impossible. She had tossed and turned, one moment too hot, the next too cold, as she battled with her own thoughts.
She should not have welcomed Galen’s bold kiss. It had thrilled her in ways she could find no words to describe. That enchantment had not ended when he lifted his lips from hers. It had remained to sizzle through her like summer rain on a hot stone.
When she saw Galen speaking with a young man she did not know, she knew she should refrain from being tempted to admire how well Galen’s coat accented the shoulders her fingers had only begun to explore. She should think of the tapestry of lies Galen had created rather than how expressive his face was. She might be able to hide her thoughts from Galen and this young man, but she could not hide from them herself.
Galen turned and smiled at her. She longed to rush to him and have him gather her into his arms again. What an air-dreamer she was! Not only could she ruin everything she had spent the last five years doing, but she could destroy it for the future as well.
“There you are,” Galen said with a chuckle. “I was wondering when you were going to turn out.” Taking her hand, he drew her forward as he said, “Lady Phoebe, this is Tate, who will be driving us today.”
“Where is Alfred?” she asked, nodding to the dark-haired coachee who looked too young to be in the box. Freckles dotted his cheeks and nose.
“On his way back to London.” He steered her toward the carriage. “Tate has come from Townsend Hall to take us the rest of the way on our journey.”
“From Townsend Hall? You sent a message there?”
His smile became wry. “Not directly. I had a lad take a note to Thistlewood Cottage, hoping that there was a carriage there we could use since mine could barely limp along the road. However, there was no carriage there, so the message was forwarded to Townsend Hall.”
“But if someone were to follow the message …”
“Even on the unlikely chance that it was followed, it is well known that Sir Ledwin, who owns Thistlewood Cottage, and I are friends. It would not be unusual for a messenger to go from his house to mine.” He chuckled as he added in a conspiratorial whisper, “And that very fact may confuse our pursuers.”
She looked over her shoulder, unable to halt herself. “Mayhap we have confused them already, for I have seen no sign of anyone coming after us.”
“So you believe that they have given up?”
“No.” She let her breath slide out in a sigh. “I do not think they will give up. Ever.”
Jerking away, Phoebe swallowed her cry of alarm as a hand touched her arm. She crouched back against the carriage wall. If one of the horrible men had exploded from her dreams into reality …
“Phoebe, we are at our destination,” Galen said quietly.
“Thistlewood Cottage?”
His smile faded. “We should reach there tomorrow night. We are in Ledge-under-Water.”
“Ledge-under-Wat
er?” She giggled. In disbelief, she put her hand over her mouth. She had not been giddy like this since she was a child.
“You are tired, aren’t you?” He cupped her elbow as he helped her out of the carriage to yet another yard in front of a simple whitewashed inn. “You should have slept later this morning.”
“Or more last night.”
“You didn’t sleep?”
Dash it! She had not meant to reveal that. Her fatigue was making her mouth too loose. “I had two nights’ sleep to catch up on.”
“You should have taken advantage of the opportunity to fall asleep in the carriage sooner.”
“I was not …” Words refused to form as they should in her brain.
His smile returned, the lazy, sensual smile that created a tingle along her as if he were caressing her. “You were not about to fall asleep in case you found yourself waking up in my arms.”
“You are a bit too sure of your own charms, Galen.”
“And you are a bit too unsure of your own charms.” He put his hand over his stomach as it growled. “I believe that is the call for dinner.”
“Galen.” She glanced around the yard that was shadowed by two huge trees. “We are close to Bath. It would be unseemly for us to share a room—even chastely—here.”
“We have had no choice at the previous inns. However, I will ask here.” He looked toward the stable, which was empty. “It looks as if the inn will not be crowded.”
“Thank you.”
“I would say it is my pleasure, but my pleasure would be to have you join me in the same room.”
“So you might sleep in a hard chair?”
He laughed. “You are a callous woman, Ph—. Ah, I think it would be best if I did not speak your name here. “You are right. We are quite close to Bath.” He tapped his cheek, then smiled. “I have a cousin whose name is Jane.”
“Do we really need such a charade?”
“It is said that ’tis better to be safe than sorry.”
“Very well.” She was hungry and tired, so she would go along with his attempt to protect her.
“Jane.” He tapped his chin and grinned. “Jane Tate.”
“You are naming me after your coachman?”
“Why not?”
That was an answer Phoebe did not have. She walked with Galen to the front door, which was wide open. The aromas of fresh bread and roasted meat greeted her, and she hoped her stomach would not grumble, too.
A smiling man walked across the neat stone floor. “Good evening.”
“Good evening. I am Galen Townsend, and I would like rooms for myself and my companion.”
The innkeeper regarded her with astonishment. She looked back at him without comment. She was no convenient, but she would play the part if it kept their pursuers from finding them.
“Of course,” the innkeeper said. “I have a room …”
“Two rooms.” Galen smiled at her. “If you have them, we need two rooms close to each other. As well, we will need suppers for both of us and my coachman in the stable, and we would appreciate something to break our fast on the morrow.”
“As you wish, sir and miss …”
“Miss Jane Tate,” she said, recalling the name Galen had selected for her.
“Welcome, Miss Tate. We are serving supper in the public room. However, I have a small room that may be more suited for a young lady. If you wish to eat now, I shall have fires laid in your rooms, so that any lingering chill will be gone.”
“You are very kind,” Galen said.
Phoebe thought she saw the flash of silver between the two men’s hands, but she said nothing as she followed the innkeeper around the corner into a pleasant room. The windows were decorated with curtains of unbleached linen, and the tables were so well polished that the candles seemed to be burning on both ends. When Galen pulled out a chair for her, she sat gratefully.
Fresh bread and a bowl of soup were set in front of her. As Galen sat beside her, she picked up a spoon and took a bite. She smiled. The food was excellent.
“You look very happy, Miss Tate,” Galen said with a chuckle.
“You should not call me that.”
“Would you prefer I call you Jane?”
“I would prefer you eat your supper and appreciate this good food after the swill we have endured.”
“Are you always this testy when you are tired?”
“Most likely.” She had to smile in spite of herself. “How far are we from Bath?”
“If the clouds over the western hills do not bring rain, we should be able to reach Bath sometime tomorrow.” He smiled at a serving lass who put a trencher with roast beef and more bread next to his soup bowl.
“Thank heavens.”
“And then what?” he asked, abruptly serious.
She put down her spoon. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have someone who will take you in until the chase winds down?”
“No.”
“None of the families you have helped would play host to you?”
She stared down at the bowl, no longer hungry. “They are mostly poor, and adding another mouth around their table would be a huge burden.”
“Good evening,” called a jovial voice from the doorway.
Phoebe turned to see a middle-aged man whose girth vied with his height. His hair was graying, and his face was lined from years of being out in the sun. His well-made clothes suggested he was of the local gentry.
“Good evening,” Galen said, coming to his feet. “Would you care to join us?”
“Thank you.” He bowed his head toward Phoebe. “I am Rodney Dorrance, mayor of Ledge-under-Water.”
“I am Townsend,” Galen replied. “This is Miss Tate.”
“Miss Tate.” The pudgy man gave her a warm smile. “I hope you do not mind the intrusion.”
“Of course not,” she answered with what was only habit. She did not want to do anything but go to her room and sleep until she no longer ached with fatigue.
Mr. Dorrance sat across from her and held out his hand to the maid who brought him a tankard of ale. “I have already dined, but I had hoped you would have news from beyond Ledge-under-Water.”
“I am afraid we have nothing of excitement to share.” Galen smiled and held up his mug for more ale. “There are no scandals in the government at the moment, and I have heard of nothing other than the usual pickpockets and burglars creating interest throughout London.”
“You jest.”
Phoebe asked, “Why do you say that, Mr. Dorrance?”
“The travelers who stayed here last night spoke of an uproar in London about Lady Midnight.”
“Lady Midnight?” Galen asked. “Is this a new play?”
Mr. Dorrance rested both elbows on the table. “Far from that, Mr. Townsend, although discussion of Lady Midnight is as intriguing as a fine new drama.”
“Then what is it?” asked Phoebe.
“Not an it, Miss Tate, but a she. Lady Midnight is rumored to be stealing convicts from ships and forcing them into the navy.”
Phoebe glanced at Galen and hastily away. Lady Midnight? This tale might be based on her attempts to save some of the convicts being transported to the other side of the earth. If so, someone mistakenly believed this woman was helping the navy to obtain crews for the ships that controlled the seas from France to the Americas.
When Galen laughed, Phoebe flinched. He put his hand over hers as he said, “Ah, yes, I had heard something about such a woman, but no one seems to know much about her.” He gave Mr. Dorrance a friendly grin. “Pray do not ask my Jane about this woman. Those who have spoken of this Lady Midnight to me would not be likely to be found in her company.”
“Forgive me, Miss Tate,” Mr. Dorrance hurried to say. “I did not realize that this was a subject unfit for a young lady’s ears.”
Rising, Phoebe said, “I shall leave you gentleman to your poker-talk.”
Both men came to the feet as well. Telling Mr. Dorrance that he would r
eturn as soon as he escorted her to her room, Galen took her arm and walked with her toward the stairs to the upper floor.
“Your ankle must be better,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can you climb the stairs?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a sideways glance, but she said nothing else. As he followed her up the stairs, he remained as silent. He paused at the top next to a door. Taking her hand, he pressed a key into her hand.
“For your room,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He ran his hand along her cheek. “I know Mr. Dorrance’s questions disturbed you greatly.”
“I had no idea there were such rumors about.”
“Now you are forewarned. These rumors may not have anything to do with …” He gave her a weary smile. “Do not worry, Phoebe. Soon there will be another tale to titillate the ton and this Lady Midnight will be forgotten.”
“I hope you are right.” She reached for her door, then paused. “At what hour do you wish to leave in the morning?”
“I will have a knock put on your door when we are ready to go.”
“Thank you.” She abruptly took his hands in hers. “Not just for tomorrow morning, Galen, but for all of this.”
“It was no less than I could do.”
“You should take care before you say that so swiftly. That is why I have been doing what I have.”
“And what you intend to do again?”
“You know I cannot turn my back on those who need me.”
He grasped her shoulders, shocking her, for he had been the epitome of gallantry this evening. “And you know, as well, that there will be those waiting for you to begin anew.”
“But you said the rumors—”
“I do not speak of those engaged in idle talk, but of those who are much closer to the truth.”
“They are never far from my mind.”
When he bid her a good evening, Phoebe thought for a moment he would kiss her as he had last night. Instead, he turned on his heel and went to the stairs. Her first reaction was hurt that he had not at least tried. When he glanced back at her, she could not mistake the craving in his eyes, for not even the dim light could hide it.
His Lady Midnight Page 7