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Chapter Eight
Moving out inthe open felt like a threat. But she tried her best to appear calm. Just because she was going with these strange men to the local inn did not mean she had kelp for brains.
Really, if anyone did see the three of them,theywould be the ones who would fall under suspicion first. They were dressed in travel clothes and she was certain that she looked as though she had been kept in someone’s cellar for six months. Any logical person might believe she was being abducted.
Now there was an idea. She might be able to go back to the Danvers without harm to her reputation if she claimed these men had taken her. Of course, that opened up the potential for a different kind of damage to her reputation—but if fate continued to treat her as it had before, the prospect of marriage would not be part of her future. She would not need to worry about everyone believing she had been compromised by rascals.
No, I cannot do that,she thought. She could not stop her mind from jumping from topic to topic, but she did not have to fuel such unethical thoughts about lying. Although she did not know them, Mr. Maclean and Mr. Mason had been nothing but decent.
She would run from them if she had to but, for the moment, she would be patient. Besides, as she stood near Mr. Mason, she had to acknowledge the pull between them. She knew it was not because he was the first person to be kind to her in a fortnight. This was different. It felt inevitable.
They reached the inn after a quick walk from the house, and she recognized it from when she had arrived.
Walking slightly ahead of her and Mr. Mason, Mr. Maclean said over his shoulder, “I shall inform Mr. Lester of our—his—third guest.”
If she were not mistaken, he viewed this as some kind of adventure. He appeared a handful of years older than her. He was no more than thirty.
Mr. Mason was more subdued in comparison, but she would not guess he was much older than that.
Mr. Maclean hurried inside.
Florence hated that her walking was curtailed by her own fatigue. It seemed her legs were as tired as the rest of her. Perhaps it was the lack of food.
But Mr. Mason slowed with her. For a man with such long legs, it must have been awkward to slow his pace or narrow his gait.
Some small and untended part of her did appreciate the little gesture of courtesy.
“You can tell us as little or as much as you wish,” said Mason, turning his head toward her, gazing down into her face. His burnt umber eyes were somber. She inferred that he had witnessed his fair share of the world, for his calm demeanor could have only come from experience.
It was not the sort of thing that could be earned without struggle.
However, she had no doubt he felt the attraction between them, too. Now that they had paused in walking, he studied her lips, eyes flickering across her face. His own parted and the tip of his tongue strayed to his lower lip.
Under other conditions, she would have been gratified and intrigued. Right now, those feelings vied with her exhaustion and trepidation. She could not be dreaming of kissing.
“I worry that it will not seem urgent to either of you.” With a sigh, she said, “I have wondered a handful of times in the last fortnight whether I am justified at all in my actions, or I behaved too impulsively. I may have ruined my own future, never mindMr. Danversruining it.”
She had said too much. She blinked at Mr. Mason. His expression allowed for a hint of pity.
They went inside before he spoke. “Then, we shall try to help you sort through things until you decide what is right.”
She warmed to the thought.
The way she’duttered “Mr. Danvers” spoke more eloquently than any of her words.
Perhaps because he had been thinking of his own father and mother’s potential circumstances, he was quickly hostile to this Mr. Danvers.
It seemed plain enough to him that she was hiding from someone who had taken advantage of her. He had seen enough of the prior duke’s conquests to understand her desperation.
Should I have Mr. Lester send for a doctor?he thought.A healer?He was sure there was someone, or several someones, who could tend to ailments and injuries. The question was how quickly they could arrive.
Aside from that, he had to remember that Miss Doyle wanted no one to know where she was. He did not seriously think that anyone was seeking her, or she would have been found. But she was scared and that fear had to be treated with compassion.
She might also be insulted if he called for a physician.
He looked at her as unobtrusively as he was able. The winter light cast her in far better illumination than the old bit of candle that she had somehow managed to light. Under dust, her hair was an amber tone. The dress she’d clearly been wearing since she absconded was a darker fawn than he’d thought. Or it was just soiled.
She had no winter coat—she might not have fled without one, but she had forgotten to wear it outside in the unexpected arrival of two strange men—so he’d given up his own. It draped around her frame with much room to spare both in width and length.
Miss Doyle only took it after demurring that she was notsocold. But Charles would not have allowed her to decline it. In the dress and a plain bonnet, she was shivering.
As soon as she began displaying such discomfort, it became obvious to him that he would do anything to alleviate it.
He hadn’t reacted that way to a woman before, and his duties left him with little time to entertain someone. Besides, in spite of thinking about what he might be like as a husband and father, he’d never seriously thought about marriage.
That, on this late December morning in a place far from his own customs and routines, seemed patently short-sighted of him.
Without warning, his heart had decided for his brain that he’d protect– and wanted to have– this woman.
