Page 26 of The Duke of My Desire

“It was Lovelace,” he confirmed, his brow furrowed. “I explained your situation to the innkeeper and he and his wife assured me they gave the man no information. Not even when Lovelace described your appearance, as you suspected he would.”

Relief swamped her. “Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed. “Then he’s gone?”

“Apparently so. But I think it would be wise if we stayed here another night and put some distance between us and Lovelace. What do you think?”

She nodded. “I agree.”

“Good. I’ve asked for any sightings of him to be reported to us immediately and I⁠—”

Justina’s stomach interrupted him with a decidedly grumpy rumble and Gregory broke off with a smile.

“And,” he continued, “I’ve asked that our breakfast be brought to our room posthaste.”

Only a few minutes later, a maid arrived with a large tray of eggs, sausages, toast and tea. The two sat before the fire, and Justina forced herself to eat, though she barely tasted the food, her thoughts still consumed with the morning’s close call.

The hope she’d had that Nigel wasn’t looking for her, small though it had been, was well and truly dead. He’d travelled here to this inn, asked the innkeeper if she was staying here, even described her appearance, as if he’d suspected she might be using a false name. It had been four days since their encounter on the street, and he was still looking for her.

She flashed back to that night again, to the look in his eyes—ice cold but feverish—and a shudder ran up her spine.

She’d gotten lucky today. Nigel might have seen her, but he hadn’t, and the innkeeper had concealed her presence here. But that didn’t mean she was safe. Nigel’s efforts might have been thwarted today but she doubted he would give up after one setback.

She sighed then forced herself to eat the last bite of egg on her plate. Tomorrow she and Gregory would be on the road again, and hopefully they would manage to outwit Lovelace and make it to Cheshire without further trouble from the dratted man.

Setting her fork on her plate on her lap, she glanced at Gregory, intending to ask him about his plan to take this alternate route. But the question died the moment she spied the frown marring his brow. He looked pensive…almost unhappy, as if something was weighing heavily on his mind.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, never one to leave her curiosity unsatisfied.

Gregory’s frown vanished and he shook his head. “Nothing.”

He looked down at his plate and speared a sausage with his fork, biting off the end of it.

“I saw that frown on your face,” she said dryly. “You were not thinking of nothing.”

She watched him as he chewed, feeling unaccountably stubborn in her desire to know his thoughts. She wasn’t owed them, and she knew that, but still she wanted them. The idea of there being secrets between them bothered her, though she didn’t entirely understand why.

Gregory was silent as he chewed, and even after he’d swallowed, he did not immediately reply. Finally, he said, “I was thinking about you. I was wondering how a woman like you became involved with a man like Lovelace.”

His eyes met hers, and while she detected no judgment there, still, she felt judged and nothing set her defenses up like feeling judged.

“A woman like me?” she repeated stiffly. “What is a woman like me like?”

“Intelligent. Intriguing. Alluring.”

Her lips parted in surprise, but she snapped them closed, her gaze dipping to her hands which clasped her cup of now-tepid tea.

Well. She certainly hadn’t expected that response. With three words, he’d completely disarmed her and she felt her shoulders relax as her temper cooled.

“I…didn’t know what he was like,” she said, answering his earlier query. “He was charming and handsome, and I thought he would be a pleasant diversion. Unfortunately, he was not the gentleman I thought he was.”

Gregory nodded slowly as he thought over her words. “Is there not some way for you to–I don’t know–make inquiries before welcoming a man into your life?”

Justina arched her brows. “Make inquiries of whom?” she asked. “I understand your point, Gregory, but although I wish there was some sort of reference book for love affairs, there isn’t.”

His brow was furrowed as he set his plate on the floor. “Then every time you engage in an affair with a new man, you just cross your fingers and hope for the best?”

He made it sound foolish—dangerous, even—and that irritated her. “Most men are nothing like Lovelace,” she said stiffly. “Most are gentlemen with simple needs.”

“But not all,” he said softly.