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“They said you was a trollop!” he cr
ied, then pressed his fingers to his split lip. His eye seemed to be swelling as she watched.
“Oh, Adam!” Cyn moved aside for Mrs. Pell who was already approaching with a cold rag. “Lord Lancaster here told them I was a trollop from London! There was nothing to defend.”
“I didn’t like it,” the boy answered, voice conveying the finality of the statement. He did spare a scornful look for Nick.
“I said lady companion! But I take it from your gallant action that tongues are wagging.”
“Aye. They are.” Adam snuck a hesitant look at Cynthia from under Mrs. Pell’s arm. “I told my mum I’d be gone for a while. Maybe a week or two.”
“No,” Nick said flatly.
Mrs. Pell cocked her head. “Be good for the boy, your lordship. Get out and see a little bit of the world.”
“We are about to become fugitives, Mrs. Pell.”
“Quite an adventure for a young man, milord.”
Nick scoffed. “An adventure in questionable conduct!”
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” the housekeeper snapped. “What other kind of adventure is there?”
When he looked at Cynthia, she shrugged. She saw no reason to deny the boy a trip to a grand estate, but Nick looked filled with doubt.
“What did your mother say, Adam?”
“She said to be careful, take good care of Miss Merrithorpe, and do as Lord Lancaster says without question.”
A brief tremor of some strong emotion rippled over Nick’s face, but it passed so quickly that Cynthia couldn’t place it. “I find it hard to believe your mother supports this,” he muttered.
“She trusts you, milord.”
“Well, she shouldn’t. She knows nothing about me.”
Cynthia wasn’t the only one studying Nick’s face now. Mrs. Pell stopped her work to watch him. When he caught them both looking, he scowled and threw up his hands. “Fine. You may ride with Jackson and learn about driving the carriage, would you like that?” Before the boy could answer, Nick stalked toward the hallway. “I’ll get the trunk.”
Mrs. Pell snapped the towel in Adam’s direction. “Get your things, boy. His lordship won’t wait on the likes of you.”
Cynthia turned back to the jug of cider she was securing for the trip, but Mrs. Pell’s familiar hand invaded her vision and covered Cynthia’s fingers. “You need to marry him, sweeting.”
“Pardon?” Flash-flooded with guilt, Cynthia jerked her hand from beneath the housekeeper’s. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Aye, you do.”
Cyn couldn’t stop the blood from rushing to her face, so she turned to slip the jug into her satchel. “No, I don’t.”
“I came to wake you this morning.”
The simple calm of those words shot through her like a bullet. Her body seized up and wouldn’t move as she recalled what had gone on in her bed that morning.
“This house is old, but the walls aren’t that thick, sweeting. Lucky for all of us, I didn’t open the door.”
“I…” The edges of her vision went a bit gray, but she wasn’t so weak that she would faint in the face of a choice she’d made. “I seduced him. He tried to say no.”
“I’m sure he did. And I’m pleased you followed my advice.”
“I didn’t.” Cynthia forced herself to turn and face Mrs. Pell, shocked to find that the older woman’s eyes held not a hint of disapproval or even embarrassment. “It wasn’t about marriage.”
