Page 41 of The Companion’s Secret

“Why, that cannot be far from Holyhead,” she said, naming the Welsh port from which the packet sailed for Dublin.

“Less than a day’s journey, I’d say.”

Just when she was in need of the means of traveling northward, she had crossed paths with Gabriel, who happened to be headed that way. Surely not a coincidence… But if it were not, then she must confront the fact that Felicity had sent him. And if he had called at Trenton House that morning, had he at last made the offer for which the entire family had been waiting with bated breath? What had been her cousin’s reply?

Fear of the answers kept those questions in check.

“What luck!” she managed to exclaim instead.

“Luck?” The force of that one wry word as it left his lips propelled him forward, closer to her. “How very…Irish of you.”

She pressed her spine against the upholstered cushion of the seat back, putting as much distance between them as possible. “I thought gamblers were great believers in luck.”

“A successful gambler deals in probabilities, Miss Burke. Mathematics,” he declared, “not luck.”

Ah, yes. Gabriel, the mathematician. Certainly, the man’s gifts included the ability to divide a woman from her honor and multiply her troubles in the bargain. Well, she could not boast of any particular skill with probabilities, but she knew luck when she saw it. Both good and bad. “I could not think of accompanying you,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. The impropriety of traveling by herself paled in comparison to the scandal of traveling unchaperoned with Lord Ash. All alone, trapped in a carriage for days? People would assume they had succumbed to temptation—and when she remembered what she and Gabriel had done just last night, she feared people would be right.

He turned back to face her, and one brow arced. “Perhaps I ought to have left you to the vagaries of the public stage, then.” The half smile that turned up his lips did very little to ease the hard lines into which his expression had fallen.

A few miles farther up the road, the driver steered the coach into the yard of a posting inn to change horses. A servant came to the carriage door, carrying a tray laden with meat pies and mugs of ale. Cami pressed her palm against her abdomen to keep her stomach from rumbling. As the young man handed in the food to her, Gabriel dug in the pocket of his coat, retrieved his purse, and spilled coins onto the servant’s palm. “And,” Gabriel added, “I believe the lady wishes to descend here.”

The servant turned to peer up at her inquiringly. “Ma’am? Will I help you down?”

Cami, who had fallen quickly on the simple repast, swallowed noisily, then twisted her head just enough to glance across the carriage at Gabriel. Having had the responsibility of caring for younger siblings, she knew well the old trick of saying one thing, in hopes of prompting the opposite action. By suggesting she leave, did he hope to goad her to stay? He lifted his brows, taunting, mocking…but beneath them, what little she could see of his shadowed expression was haunted. She began to suspect he wanted her company.

And heaven help her, she wanted his too.

Turning back to the waiting servant, she said, “Thank you, but no. You may give the order to drive on as soon as the horses are ready.” She could not be expected to give up the comfort and safety of a private carriage, traveling in precisely the direction she wished to go, after all.

Though she would not try to persuade herself that traveling with Gabriel was exactly safe.

The young man nodded and folded up the steps again. In a short while he returned for the empty mugs and tray, and moments after the door snapped shut, the carriage spun into motion once more.

Her belly full, she felt her eyelids begin to droop. The various ordeals of the last day had been draining, and the rhythmic sway of the coach was a powerful lullaby. With one fingertip, she traced the erratic path of raindrops down the window to keep herself awake.

“You look tired,” he said. A most ungentlemanly observation.

She met his gaze with every intention of denying it. She could not bear for him to discover that she had passed a sleepless night because of him. A yawn caught her off guard. She tried to hide it behind her hand, but he was not fooled.

He leaned forward and placed a hand on either side of her portable desk, clearly intending to relieve her of the burden. When she thought of what he could discover inside, she curled her fingers tighter around its worn corners. Relenting, he reached up to untie the ribbons of her bonnet instead, removed it gently, and laid it next to him. Then, he drew her spectacles carefully from her face and tucked them into the discarded bonnet. Last, he shifted to the seat beside her. “Rest,” he said, patting his own shoulder to indicate she might use it as a cushion. Automatically, she shook her head. A sigh of exasperation parted his lips. “You’re exhausted, Camellia.”

At this distance she did not need to squint to see the smudge of shadow beneath his own eyes. The produce of his usual vices, no doubt. A late night at the tables. Too much drink, too many women. Or…?

How dare she hope he had been kept awake thinking of her?

“It would be most improper,” she said, though she really might be too tired to care.

A smile quirked his lips. “Of course it would be improper.” Again, she recognized the challenge in his words. “Everything about this is improper, Miss Burke.”

She remembered the day they had walked in the park; he had asserted that she feared nothing. Tentatively, she laid her cheek against the point of his shoulder. A hard pillow. Rather damp and cool too. Before she could try to settle into whatever meager comfort the position would allow, she felt his finger brush the underside of her chin. When she lifted her head to look up, he shifted, settled his arm around her shoulders, and nudged open his greatcoat, exposing the plush, dry wool of his coat beneath.

Undeniably more comfortable. Undeniably more dangerous. Had she really tried to claim he could not ruin her? At the time, she had meant it.

But experience was teaching her there were many kinds of ruination.

She allowed herself to lean against him, this time resting her cheek against the curve of his chest, in a little hollow that seemed perfectly fitted to her head. She could feel his breath stir her hair. With the steady thump-thump of his heart beneath her ear, she snuggled into his warmth and fell fast asleep.

Chapter 13