Page 14 of Better Off Wed

Of course not. How ridiculous even to think such a thing.

Nevertheless, Jeremy’s choice was clear. He had endangered her, very nearly exposed her. If he played along with her scheme to smooth over his mistake, she could still end up at Thornton Hall tonight, despite the accident and her injury, just as she had set out to do.

And he would be able to observe her in action, see just the sort of woman Lady Sterling really was.

So, he’d taken her hand in the pub and called her dearest, telling himself he was only following Scott’s orders to get close to the woman.

He ought to have considered just how close he was willing to get.

Last night had been one thing, an accidental embrace in the dark. At present, however, she had one arm curled around his neck, the very picture of a trusting bride about to be carried over the threshold. When they stepped into the cold, drizzling rain, she tucked her face against his shoulder, almost inviting him to drop a kiss on her damp hair.

Would that be forgetting himself, or playing his part with conviction?

Thankfully, they were meant to be at odds, she running from the man whose very name…oh, he was almost tempted to laugh…had exposed her to gossip and scandal.

Gently, he lifted her into the carriage and placed her on the forward-facing bench, then hesitated a moment over where best to seat himself. He could not like the idea of forcing Miss Hopkins to endure several hours in close proximity to Thornton; the look in Betty’s eyes as she’d spoken of the man’s reputation was burned into Jeremy’s memory.

Then again, he saw nothing like fear in Miss Hopkins’s present expression, and nothing like welcome for himself.

In the end, Jeremy took the seat opposite, thinking it better to pretend deference to his host. The position had the added benefit of making it easier to study his, er, wife.

Despite the plush, well-sprung seat, her stiff, awkward posture reflected her discomfort, though he could not judge whether pain or embarrassment caused the larger share of it. Even in the shadows of the carriage, her practical traveling costume of tobacco-colored wool was still a few shades too light to mask the mud caking her hems, her knees, and the edges of her sleeves. Because she’d abandoned both her muddy gloves and bedraggled bonnet in the pub, nothing now disguised the way her golden curls framed her face or hid the nervous motions of her pale hands, absently winding the ribbon of her reticule around her first finger, allowing it to unspool, then starting over again.

Lady Sterling had been an entirely shadowy figure in his mind, the mere outline of a woman, featureless, faceless. Despite the vagueness of his mental sketch of the notorious thief, however, the present picture of Miss Hopkins was entirely incongruous with it. For one thing, she was young—twenty-five, or thereabouts, he guessed; her petite frame and heart-shaped face made her look younger still. Scott’s speculation and Penhurst’s account of the events at Vauxhall had led him to expect someone more mature. Someone who did not look so…innocent.

So in need of protection.

The carriage rocked as Thornton ascended the steps. The motion seemed to startle her, perhaps calling to mind the accident, and her wide, gray eyes raked over Jeremy in passing as she jerked her attention to the door. She seemed to resent having been rescued—or, more accurately, she resented needing to be rescued.

Yes, even aside from the injured ankle, the lady was quite obviously miserable in her made-up marriage.

And Jeremy, who had been so reckless as to laugh dismissively at General Scott’s order, was hardly less so.

Thornton swung inside. “All set, then?”

She nodded, even as she drew back further against the opposite wall when the man seated himself beside her.

“A nervous bride is nothing new,” Thornton mused, looking her up and down, “though I can’t say I’ve heard of many who actually took the trouble of running away. I hope this little adventure has taught you a lesson, Lady Sterling?”

The direct address still startled her—or else she feigned it well. “Indeed, my lord. It has been a day of”–her gaze flickered briefly to Jeremy–“discoveries.”

“And soon to be a night of them, eh, Sterling?” Thornton joked in a low voice, favoring Jeremy with a ribald wink. “When the doctor arrives to check on that ankle, I’ll see that he gives your bride something for her nerves, too.”

The less-than-subtle meaning of those words shuddered through Miss Hopkins with all the force of a blow, and her eyes flared and darted to Jeremy’s face, apprehensive of his reaction. From the tinge of fury in her expression, he could guess that fear was an emotion she generally managed to keep at bay.

“A sedative might be in order,” Jeremy agreed, mustering his best aristocratic drawl. “I daresay what my wife needs most is a restful night. Uninterrupted.”

Thornton made a noise of bemused astonishment in his throat and folded his arms over his chest. Evidently, it had never occurred to him that a man might not wish to force his attentions on an unwilling—even unconscious—woman. “As you wish.”

Though she still radiated wariness, Miss Hopkins’s shoulders settled a notch lower. She fixed her attention on the window and the ever-darkening sky beyond. The storm had cloaked late afternoon in the gloom of dusk. They would be fortunate to reach Thornton Hall by nightfall.

Thornton settled into a similar posture, gazing out the opposite window. Jeremy seized the quiet moment to arrange his thoughts into some less haphazard order. After all, he was meant to be a highly trained intelligence officer.

But instead of answers, his brain seemed only capable of generating more questions.

What would happen when they arrived at Thornton Hall?

What explanation was he prepared to offer Miss Hopkins, once they were alone? Should he reveal his mission, his name, his knowledge of hers?