He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it with a snap. She was right, of course. Partially.
“Be that as it may,” he began carefully, “It’s hardly a more socially acceptable alternative for you to travel across the country with an unmarried man. Indeed,thatis a recipe for scandal—for both of us.” As was everything which had occurred over the past two days.
Given the circumstances, his level of equanimity was laudable, if he did say so himself.
Her fair brows snapped together as understanding dawned in her eyes. Eyes the color of a clear morning sky, or the tranquil blue of an ocean cove on a windless day. He’d never seen such a shade of blue in a person’s eyes.
“You are right, of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed, wary now. Why had she agreed with him?
Lady Annabelle was a determined little thing—and too smart for her own good. Combine those factors with her obvious lack of impulse control, and he could all but smell disaster brewing.
“I shall have to send for help. A discreet, more reliable chaperone will need to be dispatched here.”
“An excellent notion. Meanwhile, I advise you to lay low, keep to your guest chamber, and in several days—”
“I think not, my lord,” she interrupted with obvious affront. “I will not make myself a virtual prisoner in a country inn in a land where armed ruffians roam the streets, nor do I intend to invite irreparable scandal on myself, sir.”
He glared at her, because, for once, she spoke sense.
She lifted her chin. “What if Lady Caroline were in my position?”
“My sister would never find herself in your position.” He’d taught her better than that.
“But if she did, through no fault of her own,” she pressed. If she heard his snort of incredulity, she hid it well, adding, “And if someone was in a position to offer aid, you would expect him to offer it, would you not?”
He clenched his jaw as the snare she’d set for him closed. “I would,” he all but growled, annoyed, though whether with her or himself, who could say? Because part of him, a veryparticularpart of him, was not at all sorry to learn he was stuck with her for the foreseeable future, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise.
She sent him a sunny, too-satisfied smile. “That’s settled, then. I shall return to the castle with you and await my chaperone there. Now, kindly escort me to the telegraph office, Lord Randall.” Her glowing smile dimmed slightly as some new problem evidently presented itself to her.
“What now?” he demanded.
She cleared her throat. “I haven’t any funds.”
“In other words, I’m to pay for the message you wish to send?”
Rebounding from her momentary discomfiture, she batted her lashes at him, in an unabashed, sarcastic show offauxinnocence. “Unless you have a better idea of how to get rid of me in a timely, chivalrous, manner?”
He didn’t know which he wanted more—to laugh, or groan, or drag her close and kiss her until she was every bit as off-kilter as he was.
Liar.
“Let’s go,” he said, praying he had the self-control to survive her brand of temptation for as long as required.
Chapter 13
Annabelle pasted a banal expression on her face as she and Lord Randall made their way down the dusty walk toward the telegraph office. Inside, however, she danced a jig of jubilation. She’d done it. She’d convinced him to allow her to stay.
Fate had presented her a second chance, though as of yet, she hadn’t devised a precise plan to proceed. She could forget convincing him to return to London with her. He’d made his obstinance on that point perfectly clear.
Instead, she would have to whittle a confession out of him concerning what really transpired that night—and the clock was ticking.
Her mother did not want to hear the first thing about Gaston’s death being something beyond an awful accident. No, indeed, she had grown accustomed to wallowing in her own grief and guilt. She who had no patience for anyone else’s woes.
How many times had Annabelle overheard her lamenting to their father that Gaston’s death was “all her fault.”Too many to count.
Meanwhile, she’d told Annabelle—repeatedly—to leave it alone. Toleave Gaston’s memory in peace, and stop stirring up trouble,as if by searching for the real cause of his death she was somehow to blame for her mother’s continued agony.
