by Farr, Diane
“Of what possible interest is that to me?”
“Why—why, my lord, that is your destination, is it not? Yes, I’m quite sure you told me ‘twas London—”
“What if I did?”
Hopkins appeared nonplussed. Miss Pickens peered round his shoulder and favored Lord Drakesley with an ingratiating smile. “We share a destination, my lord,” she piped brightly. “Might we not share a coach as well?”
Relief and dismay warred within Lilah’s breast. Dismay won. “Oh, Picky, no!” she blurted. All eyes turned to Lilah. She cudgeled her brain for a reason for her outburst, and immediately thought of one. “Pray recall that it is a closed carriage,” she protested, casting her eyes modestly down. “Lord Drakesley must let us take the coach, for I cannot share it with a gentleman. It would be the height of impropriety.”
“I see nothing improper in it,” said Miss Pickens reasonably. “You cannot go alone with him, of course, but I will be with you. No one could object to so harmless an arrangement.”
“I could,” said Lord Drakesley.
Miss Pickens, apparently interpreting this assertion as a jest, tittered politely. She then stepped forth and addressed Lilah with the confidence and affection of long acquaintance. “Lilah, dear, you will not like to appear unreasonable,” she said coaxingly. “We do not mind sharing a little space with his lordship. Indeed, we must be grateful, you and I. Only think how we are incommoding him! Were it not for our arrival, he might have gone on alone quite comfortably.”
“I may yet,” said Lord Drakesley conversationally. “For I have no intention of sharing the coach with you ladies.” Miss Pickens turned shocked, reproachful eyes upon him. He coughed. “Well, frankly, ma’am, I have no objection to taking you up,” he explained. “But as for that troublesome chit—” he jerked a thumb to indicate Lilah. “I’d as lief be caged with a wasp.”
Mr. Hopkins stepped hastily forward. “Now, now, there’s no need to pull caps over this,” he begged. “I’m sure we can arrange something satisfactory, with just a little cooperation—just a smidgen of good will, if I might be so bold to suggest it! Ladies, Lord Drakesley’s groom is stopping here and will drive his lordship’s curricle to London once it is repaired. Much of your baggage might be left here, for transport in the curricle. If you three travelers can agree on what items must go with you and which may be left behind for a few days—”
“All my luggage is absolutely vital,” said Lilah quickly. “There will be no room for Lord Drakesley or any of his gear in my coach.”
Something that sounded like a low growl came from Lord Drakesley’s throat. Miss Pickens and Mr. Hopkins rushed to pour oil on the troubled waters.
“Oh, but for my own luggage, I am sure I need only one bandbox,” Miss Pickens averred. “And you know, Lilah dear, we will have no immediate need for any of the trunks—”
“My lord, I’m sure Miss Chadwick has not thought it through, I’m sure she will be reasonable,” babbled Hopkins. “And if Miss Pickens is willing to dispense with most of her own items for the time being—”
“I see no reason why Miss Pickens should be inconvenienced,” Lilah interrupted, her voice cool with disdain.
“And I see no reason why I should be inconvenienced,” announced Lord Drakesley. “This conversation is at an end. Good day.”
He moved to climb into the coach. In a moment, he would be gone. For half a moment, Lilah could not believe her eyes. Had she lost? Incredible! She was such a formidable opponent in any battle of wills, it was rare for her to meet resistance, let alone defeat.
Frantic, she ran forward and clutched at his coat. “Do not go!” she cried. “My lord, I beg of you—see reason! You are inconveniencing two ladies, something I am persuaded your good breeding will not allow. If you take that coach, we will be stranded.”
He paused on the step, looking back at her in patent exasperation. “The coach is mine, brat. Unless you would care to change your tune about sharing it with me?” He bared his teeth in what was clearly meant to be a smile. “I might be persuaded to take you up, were I confident that you would not delay me further.”
His tone was so jeering, Lilah knew he expected her to spurn his offer. He was, all too obviously, waiting only for that before climbing into the coach. Her chin jutted stubbornly. A brat, was she? Ha! She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her behave like the spoiled child he thought her. Besides, instant capitulation was her last hope. She pinned a sweet smile on her lips.
“Oh, my lord, I would not dream of delaying you. Come along, Miss Pickens! His lordship has decided to share the coach with us after all, and, upon reflection, I see no point in declining his offer.”
Lord Drakesley appeared startled. Then his brows contracted in one of his ferocious scowls. “This is sudden! I thought you insisted on taking the coach yourself?”
She shrugged lightly. “I would prefer it, of course. But if Mr. Hopkins has let the coach to you, why, I suppose I have no recourse.”
His scowl darkened. “Hang it all! I don’t want to share the coach with you.”
Her smile brightened. “Then it was particularly kind of you to offer,” she said sweetly. “Thank you.”
She was highly gratified to see that her apparent surrender had wiped the smugness from his expression. It was a Pyrrhic victory, but the sight of the earl’s discomfiture, and his patent annoyance, made it almost worthwhile. The outcome was not to her liking—but it was a consolation to see that it was even less to his liking. She half expected him to withdraw his offer immediately, but he did not. He muttered a rather shocking oath which Lilah pretended not to hear, then stalked back into the inn, announcing savagely that if he must wait for the ladies’ baggage to be transferred to his coach, at least he would refresh himself meanwhile. Lilah breathed a little easier when he had gone.
Well. She had committed herself. She and Lord Drakesley would be sharing a coach. This was not what she had intended, and the journey would doubtless be an unpleasant one, but she consoled herself with the thought that at least she was en route to London in a proper traveling coach. And the insufferable Lord Drakesley had been forced, after all, to accommodate her.
Chapter 3
As Lord Drakesley had foreseen, a brief delay ensued while the ladies’ baggage was piled atop the rickety coach. As soon as their reluctant escort had disappeared into the Swan, Lilah scrambled into the coach’s cabin. She pulled Miss Pickens after her, beckoning hurriedly. “For heaven’s sake, make haste!” she urged. “I would not put it past the man to take the forward-facing seat and force us to ride backwards. He may be an earl, but he is no gentleman.”
Miss Pickens obligingly clambered in. “Well, earls are a different breed, my dear. We must make allowances for his rank. I daresay he receives so much deference as a matter of course, he has come to expect it from everyone he meets.”
“He won’t get it from me.” Lilah’s chin jutted mulishly. “You should have seen him a while ago—flashing his title and swaggering about, distributing largesse to the lackeys and generally behaving like the Grand Turk! Disgusting, I thought it.”
But Miss Pickens’s face had assumed an extraordinary expression. “Mercy on us! What is that reek?” she exclaimed as she settled onto the narrow bench beside her charge.
Lilah sniffed the air, then coughed. She struggled to remove the leather curtain covering the window on her side of the compartment. “Onions,” she said, in a strangled tone. “I think.” Having succeeded, she leaned into the opening and fanned briskly with one hand, trying to pull fresh air into the confines of the coach. “The great thing is, Lord Drakesley’s odor won’t matter a whit. Did you see how filthy he was? I wanted to tell him that powdered hair is no longer the fashion, but I didn’t think he would see the joke.”
“Now, Lilah—! He’s been traveling in a curricle, you know. It’s natural for a man to collect a little dust that way.”
“Kindly stop defending him,” said Lilah crossly. “It puts me o
ut.”
“Nevertheless, you are blaming Lord Drakesley for a situation that is entirely Hopkins’s fault. He must know he runs the only posting house for ten miles or more. I cannot imagine why the wretched man doesn’t secure a few more vehicles.”
“If he maintains them as poorly as this, I daresay the rest have all fallen to pieces.”
When Lilah saw Lord Drakesley emerging from the inn she promptly sat back against the threadbare squabs, assuming an elaborately dignified posture. She would not give Lord Drakesley the satisfaction of seeing her sulk, but, on the other hand, she needn’t fawn on him the way Miss Pickens seemed prepared to do. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the earl’s enormous body striding swiftly across the yard. The coach rocked violently as he pulled open the door and clambered in.
“Well, well. This is cozy,” he said dryly. “Mind if I put my feet in your lap?”
Startled, Lilah looked at him—and was relieved to see that he was joking. The space was, indeed, cramped for a man of his bulk. For the first time, she felt a twinge of sympathy for his reluctance to share it. This would be a tedious journey for him, with his long legs folded into the narrow confines of the aisle and his head nearly touching the ceiling. The jouncing of the carriage would doubtless knock his skull against the roof from time to time. Alone in the coach, he might have stretched out and made himself more comfortable.
He had obviously availed himself of a wash basin. She had to admit, it had done him some good. The film of road grit that had leached the color from his person and his clothing had been, for the most part, removed. The leather duster and thick muffler that had made him look like a highwayman had also been discarded, revealing a well-cut suit of ordinary clothing. He was dressed in perfectly respectable blue and buff. His hair, damp-combed, appeared dark brown. He had evidently changed into clean linen. Why, he looked halfway human. Even his eyebrows looked more civilized. It was impossible to think of him as attractive, but at least he no longer looked as if he made a living by lurking about with a pistol in his pocket.
He seemed to notice her scrutiny. An ironic gleam appeared in his deep-set eyes. “I clean up well, don’t I?” he drawled.
If he hoped to embarrass her, he would be disappointed. Lilah’s chin lifted. “Cleanliness is a virtue, my lord,” she said coolly.
The coach started forward with a lurch, throwing her briefly against his knee. She ignored the embarrassing contact and pressed her feet tightly together, squeezing herself into the corner as far from him as she could. This, unfortunately, wasn’t very far. Beside her, Miss Pickens was hanging on to a strap provided to steady travelers during the rocking of the coach. The strap on Lilah’s side of the vehicle, she noted belatedly, was broken.
The coach swung round the turn onto the highway and Lilah was pitched again, willy-nilly, almost into Lord Drakesley’s lap. She regained her balance with an effort, trying not to blush, and fixed her gaze determinedly out the window. It seemed that Lord Drakesley’s eyes never left her face, and she was fairly sure he was enjoying her discomfiture. Odious man! She tried to appear unconcerned.
“We are now, officially, traveling companions,” he commented. “I think introductions are in order.”
Lilah shot him a cold look. “We will not be thrown together for longer than a day or two. I see nothing amiss with calling each other ‘my lord’ and ‘ma’am.’”
“Or, to differentiate between you ladies,” he suggested, “how about ‘my lord,’ ‘ma’am,’ and ‘your highness’?”
Lilah choked. “I do not expect royal treatment!”
“Good, because you won’t receive it,” said Lord Drakesley affably. “Let’s dispense with the animosity, shall we? It grows tiresome. My name is Adam Harleston. I’m the 9th earl of Drakesley. I’ve had the title since the age of ten months, so everyone has called me Drake for as long as I can remember.”
She eyed him doubtfully. “Are we to call you ‘Drake’ as well?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“It sounds disrespectful.”
His deep-set eyes gleamed. “How touching. Where was this concern for my dignity ten minutes ago?”
Lilah tossed her head. “I am not concerned about your beastly dignity,” she said frostily. “I am concerned about how we will look, if Miss Pickens and I address you so informally.”
“Oh. So your concern is for yourself. Now that makes sense. You had me worried there, for a moment; I thought I might have misjudged you.”
Lilah drew herself up to her full, if diminutive, height, and opened her mouth to say something pretty blistering. She was forestalled by Miss Pickens, who leaped hastily into the breach. “Very obliging of you, my lord, I am sure—most obliging!” she babbled. “I’m sure we will be glad to call you anything you like. Whatever you prefer. Lilah, dear, pray—! His lordship is being very kind, most condescending, to let us employ a name his intimates use. Why, we only met him this morning and here he is, treating us quite like old friends. Very good of you, my lord, very good of you. We will be proud to call you—ah—‘Drake.’” She gulped involuntarily, as if calling an earl by his nickname caused her physical pain. “Drake,” she repeated gamely, and managed a rather wan smile. “I daresay it is taken from your title?”
He bowed. “Naturally. Now tell me, if you can, why the fastidious creature to your immediate right hesitates to call me ‘Drake’ but publicly calls you ‘Piggy.’”
Miss Pickens blinked and Lilah gasped. “I do not call her Piggy!”
“I distinctly heard you call her Piggy. Shockingly disrespectful, I thought.”
Lilah bit her lip, struggling not to laugh. “Picky. You may have heard me call her Picky. Short for Pickens.” She turned to her companion, contrite. “I’m sorry, Picky dear. I should be more careful.”
Miss Pickens looked mortified. “I own, I do not care for the nickname,” she confessed. “But it never occurred to me that a stranger might hear it as ‘Piggy.’”
“I shall call you Miss Pickens,” promised Drake. “Whatever the Princess does.”
Lilah’s urge to laugh vanished. “I am not a princess,” she said stiffly. “My father is a baronet. My name, if you must know it, is Chadwick.”
The oddest expression descended onto Drake’s features. It was the first time she had seen him nonplussed. He stared, his brows knitting. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “What did you say your name was?”
“Chadwick,” said Lilah, surprised. “Delilah Chadwick.”
She could have sworn he turned pale. “Never tell me you are related to Sir Horace Chadwick!”
Lilah and Miss Pickens looked at each other, then back at Drake. “Why? Are you acquainted with my father?” asked Lilah, puzzled.
“Good God! Then—d’you mean your father is Sir Horace Chadwick?” He raked a hand distractedly through his still-damp hair. It immediately sprang up into an unruly thatch of cowlicks.
“Ye-es,” said Lilah cautiously. “What’s the matter?”
Drake suddenly looked as if he would like very much to jump out of the coach. “I should have guessed as much,” he ejaculated bitterly. “The way my luck has been running, I might have known this would happen. Confound it! Of all people to encounter on the road—of all people to be forced to travel with—his daughter! Good God!”
“Have you run mad?” demanded Lilah, incredulous. “My father hasn’t an enemy in the world.”
“He hasn’t met me yet,” said Drake darkly. His lip curled as he looked at Lilah. “I should stop the coach and put you out on the road right now. I should drive off and leave you here, alone with Miss Pickens and all your blasted luggage. I daresay your father would leave London at once and ride to your rescue.”
“Of course he would,” said Lilah promptly. “And you would be clapped into Bedlam, which is obviously where you belong.”
“I begin to think I would be happier there,” growled Drake. “Blast it! What a chapter of accidents.”
Miss Pickens leaned timidly forward. �
��My lord, you are distraught,” she said soothingly. “What has occurred to vex you so? Sir Horace is a virtuous, kindly man, I give you my word. I have lived in his household these dozen years or more, and know him well. He is no man’s enemy.”
The rickety coach suddenly hit a bump and all three of its occupants flew straight up and knocked their heads on the ceiling. This did nothing to improve Drake’s temper. He leaned out the window and shouted, “Wake up, you cow-handed whipster! You’ll land us in the ditch!”
“Beg pardon, milord,” came the faint reply. The driver sounded aggrieved. “You did say you wanted all possible speed.”
“Aye, but let’s arrive with no bones broken!”
“Very good, my lord.”
Drake pulled his head back in and glared at the ladies. “You were saying?” he inquired, with savage politeness. “Ah, yes! Extolling the virtues of Sir Horace Chadwick. Well, save your breath. Is he, or is he not, a man of middle age?”
Lilah was still rubbing her head. “Since he is my father, you must know he is,” she said crossly. “What’s wrong with middle age?”
“Fifty years or more in his dish, I daresay,” said Drake, in a voice of loathing.
“Five-and-forty, if it’s any business of yours. Which it isn’t!” said Lilah, with spirit. “And what has that to say to anything? It’s absurd to take a man in dislike because he is forty-five! You’ll reach that age yourself one day—if no one murders you first.”
Drake scowled. “When I am forty-five,” he announced, “I shall not spend my declining years seducing innocents who are young enough to be my daughter.”
Lilah nearly jumped in surprise. “I should hope not!” Then a crazy idea occurred to her. Her eyes narrowed. She leaned towards Drake, her voice becoming dangerously silky. “Do not—do not—tell me that that incredibly offensive remark had anything to do with my father.”
Miss Pickens made a faint squawking sound. The two combatants, focused intently on each other, ignored her.
Drake leaned forward until his face was scant inches from Lilah’s. “It has everything to do with your precious father,” he said through his teeth. “In fact, there is no remark I could make about Sir Horace Chadwick that would be offensive enough to describe his conduct.”