Page 17 of Better Off Wed

At last she pried her teeth apart—light cast from the house made it easy enough to see that her jaw and lips were trembling; whether with cold or fear or fury, he was less sure—and spoke again. “I said, I can manage on my own.”

He curved his lips into a thin smile, all the while silently cursing General Scott. “I’m sure you believe that, ma’am. But if you put weight on that foot and injure yourself further, you—we—will be stranded in Kent for a month. So I’m going to have to insist you accept my assistance.”

“We.” The venom in the word nearly made him flinch. “And who are you, my lord? How do you know anything—everything—about me?”

In nearly two hours of travel, Jeremy had reached no conclusions about how much to reveal about himself or his mission. But it was obvious that his attempt to reassure her by revealing that he knew her, not just the fictitious Lady Sterling, had offered no reassurance at all.

Wishing he had not repeated Lieutenant Hopkins’s offhand comment about his sister’s dislike of rain, Jeremy coaxed his features into what he hoped was an encouraging expression, tilted his head, and stretched forth his hand despite the risks. “If we stay here a moment longer, it will only raise more questions. I promise I’ll explain, just as soon as I can be sure we won’t be overheard. Come, now.”

After a moment, she unbent herself enough to slide along the seat, closer to him. With a grimace, she lifted herself onto her good foot and tipped forward, into his waiting arms.

Certainly he had never anticipated that half a lifetime of carting Julia around on his shoulders and catching her whenever she took a mind to launch herself from a tree branch or the top of a stile had been preparing him for his work as a secret agent.

Then again, hoisting his little sister out of various scrapes was really nothing like cradling Laura Hopkins against his chest.

He paused while she arranged her skirts to cover her legs, then encircled his neck and shoulders with one arm. “I do not like to be a burden.”

“You’re no burden,” he insisted, and it was—in the most obvious sense—perfectly true. She could not be much more than five feet tall or weigh more than eight or nine stone. Granted, she would have been easier to carry if she were not holding herself stiff as a corpse, but he chose to attribute that to cold and pain.

The real burden was knowledge, or the lack thereof.

Knowing his mission did not make it any clearer how he ought to proceed.

Knowing her true identity did not make her intentions any less mysterious.

Knowing that if she ever relaxed her rigid posture, her body would fit perfectly against his was more dangerous than knowing nothing at all.

Thornton had already begun to ascend the steps, and the door swung open to admit him. Light and voices spilled from the house, and Jeremy followed dutifully in the path they created. Miss Hopkins’s body quivered with something that sounded suspiciously like a wry laugh. “I hadn’t planned on entering Thornton Hall via the front door,” she said.

In a low voice, he replied: “Consider yourself lucky. When I woke up this morning, I hadn’t any notion I would be entering it at all.”

The entry hall was high-ceilinged and walnut-paneled, dark despite the branches of candles lining the walls and large enough that the half-dozen or so people awaiting Thornton’s arrival were nearly lost in the space.

A footman stepped forward first, to relieve Thornton of his greatcoat and hat. He was followed by a middle-aged woman, presumably Lady Thornton, murmuring a steady litany of complaint and concern about the damp air. Three children stood behind her, two girls on the brink of awkward adolescence and a boy of about six, none of them looking particularly eager to greet their father.

Thornton stepped to one side to give his wife a better look at their unexpected guests. “I found these strays in a pub east of Dartford. Coaching accident. Couldn’t very well leave them in the rain, could I?” he declared with the sort of laugh that invited no one to join him. “I give you Lord and Lady Sterling, newlyweds.”

From the shadows came a soft gasp, drawing Jeremy’s attention to a young woman he had previously overlooked—a young woman hoping to be overlooked, if her ill-fitting gray wool dress and downcast eyes were any indication. No one else seemed to have heard.

“Oh, dear,” exclaimed Lady Thornton, coming closer. She struck Jeremy as the sort of woman who liked having someone to fuss over—or, more accurately, liked for others to perceive her as the sort of woman who enjoyed fussing over people. “Were you injured? But obviously you must have been,” she corrected herself, her close-set eyes darting over Laura’s form in his arms. “Poor dear. Can you walk at all?”

Miss Hopkins’s head scrubbed against his shoulder. “I think I’d best not try, ma’am.”

“Send for Phelps,” Thornton ordered the footman.

At the same time, Lady Thornton spoke to the young woman in gray, only half turning her head. “Godfrey, take the children to the winter parlor, then tell Mrs. Tenney to have the green bedroom prepared for Lord and Lady Sterling.”

“Would not?”—Miss Godfrey began, astonishing both herself and Lady Thornton with her boldness—“would not the blue bedroom be preferable, my lady?”

Lady Thornton considered the suggestion. “I suppose you’re right. It is closer. Go on, then.”

“Yes, my lady.” Miss Godfrey gathered the three children with a sweep of both arms and ushered them toward the wide, curving staircase at the back of the hall. At the landing, she paused and sent a hopeful look over her shoulder. Suddenly, Jeremy remembered: according to Betty, Lady Sterling had come to Thornton Hall for the sake of the governess.

Lady Thornton herself showed him up the stairs to the blue bedroom, lavishly appointed with draperies and bed hangings of precisely the shade one might have expected, but of course, only one bed.

Its four mahogany posters and plump mattress dominated the room. At least so it seemed to Jeremy, to whom Lady Thornton had to speak twice before he even saw the dainty, damask-covered sofa before an empty fireplace. He deposited Laura on its cushions as instructed, heaved a grateful sigh, then lifted his shoulders twice in quick succession and tried to shake the feeling back into his arms.

Something like amusement twinkled in Laura’s eyes, though it did not erase the shadows of pain and worry. “I thought you said I was no burden, my lord.”