Chapter 21
Somebody was following him. Christian didn’t need to look back over his shoulder to know that. He’d already spotted a cab waiting in the shadows when he trotted out of his driveway.
Almost at once, the cab set off after him. Naturally, he sped up, easing from a canter to a loping gallop. Not a dead sprint, that was never a good idea on London’s slippery cobblestones, but enough to put distance between him and his pursuers.
Who is it?
Now, at one time he might have assumed it was a lover, either outraged at being dropped or hungry for more, but lately he hadn’t given anyone a chance.
Strange. It just hadn’t occurred to him. In the past, he would have juggled several lovers at once. But now, all he could think about was her.
Thalia.
He glanced over his shoulder again, and this time he recognized the woman sitting in the front seat beside the driver. Yes, she was swathed in a rough cloak and an ugly woolen dress, but could it be her?
Well, now he had to know.
He halted abruptly, the horse’s hooves sending up sparks on the cobbles. Behind him, the cab screeched to an equally ignominious stop, and the woman lurched forward with a squeak.
He certainly recognized that squeak.
Silence ensued, and he squinted across the distance between them. “Thalia?”
She flinched. “Um. G-Good evening to you, Your Grace.”
The driver glanced slowly between them. “Not a very friendly greeting,” he commented.
It seemed to mean something because Thalia snorted and rolled her eyes at him.
Christian angled his horse back towards the cab, hooves clicking on the cobbles. “What are you doing out at this hour?” he demanded. “It’s midnight.”
“I could ask you the same.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I am a man, my dear. I face a rather different set of dangers.”
She bit her lower lip. “Well, I am here because I wanted to help. With that thing we discussed,” she added carefully.
He considered. Of course, it would be easier to send her home. Safer, too.
“Very well,” he heard himself say. “You can come along with me. I daresay you’ll have to perch on the back of the saddle.”
The driver heaved a sigh. “I’ll drive her there. I’ll drive you both there, it seems.”
Christian gave a wide grin. “Thank you, good sir. I should warn you, though, that we’re going on a long way.”
The cab crawled to a halt in front of a grimy-looking pub. The Highland Road.
“Didn’t think we were going outside of London,” the driver complained.
“Barely,” Christian pointed out. “We are barely outside of London.”
The man sniffed.
Thalia dug into her pocket, taking out a reticule. Christian heard coins clink, and at once, he withdrew his wallet. He handed over a generous sum to the driver, whose face relaxed a little.
“That’s generous, Your Grace. That’ll be enough for me to go on home, I reckon. Unless you want me to wait around and take you back? I don’t like the idea of the young lady being abandoned in the dead of night.”
“I shall take care of her,” Christian assured him. “She’ll get home safe.”
The driver eyed him for a long moment and was apparently satisfied by what he saw in his face. He took the money and gave a nod of agreement.
Thalia alighted neatly, nodding and smiling up at the driver. “Thank you,” she said, “for everything.”
He nodded back with a smile, and off he went.
That left her and Christian standing on the roadside, with his horse nudging the back of their shoulders.
“Well,” she said, turning to face him, “why are we here?”
“This road leads through the north to Scotland,” Christian explained. “It’s the most common path for travelers to take. They mostly stop at this pub before they start their journey in earnest. Anyone traveling to Scotland would likely have stopped here. A woman certainly would.”
“Why a woman, specifically?”
“Because this place is considered respectable. It’s cozy, friendly to families, and generally safe for a woman to stay. If Laura went to Scotland, it’s ten to one that she stopped here. It seems a good place to ask questions about her.”
“And I can help!” Thalia chirped.
Christian gave her a fond smile. “You certainly can. However, as I said, it is a respectable place. You and I will have to be either married or related. Which shall it be?”
She cleared her throat, tossing back her hair. “Well, we don’t look like we’re related, do we?”
He grinned. Her face looked calmer somehow, almost younger. With her drab cloak, ordinary dress, and sensible boots, she looked like nothing more than a respectable woman. Not a lady, not the sister of a marquess.
For his part, Christian had been careful to dress in plain clothes, too. A simple suit, no cravat pin, his cravat tied in an ordinary knot. He’d even chosen not to style his hair. After all, it would do no good to arrive at the place looking resplendent, like a duke.
He had to be subtle. He had to go unnoticed.
“Wife it is, then,” he said shortly.
He extended his hand. She took it, and together they stepped over the threshold.
The Highland Road was a pleasant, cozy pub. The rafters, low and cobwebbed, nearly brushed Christian’s head when they stepped inside.
A plump woman in a gravy-stained apron came bustling forward, beaming.
“Welcome, welcome, weary travelers!” she said with the air of one embarking on a well-rehearsed speech. “Where are you off to? The cold north? The rugged Highlands? Or just visiting family in the Midlands?”
“Visiting family,” Christian said smoothly, flashing her a smile.
It was technically a lie, and he hadn’t said where they were going, but the woman seemed content enough with that.
“Of course, of course,” she said, nodding sagely.
“Come, make yourselves comfortable. Take a seat! Ah, is this your lovely lady-wife? I certainly hope it is,” she added, the smile never leaving her face, “because we don’t allow fraternizing here.
London and its filth are just on the doorstop, and we must not let it inside. ”
“Naturally,” Christian agreed. “This is my wife, of course. We hoped to take a room for the night.”
“Of course. And supper?”
“That would be nice. Is that stew I smell? It seems delicious.”
The woman reddened with pleasure. She was already casting thoughtful little glances up at him, smiling and twisting a lock of hair that had slipped from beneath her old-fashioned mob-cap.
“Why, it is, sir,” she gushed. “My own recipe. A simple, hearty beef stew. The bread is fresh. Also cooked by me, of course.”
“Of course,” he echoed, smiling.
“Let me show you to a seat,” she fluttered, sparing a tight smile for Thalia and a bigger one for him.
She gestured, and he followed her through the half-full pub to the back, where a few small booths were set in a curtained alcove. That was perfect. It allowed for a little extra privacy, so he could take a look at the pub’s patrons without drawing attention to himself.
At least, he hoped he would not draw attention to himself.
He and Thalia sat down on either side of a square, gritty table with dirt ingrained into the wood. The woman officiously wiped the surface and threw him one last smile before prancing away, promising to fetch beers.
“I think she likes you,” Thalia observed wryly.
He smirked. “Why not? I am charming.”
“You think you are charming. It’s not the same thing.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. For a moment, he simply watched her.
Thalia gingerly pushed back her hood and pulled her braid over her shoulder, tugging at it. The cold night air had left a flush in her cheeks and a spark in her eyes. She glanced around the pub, bright-eyed and curious, looking at everything.
“In some places, looking too openly makes one a target,” Christian remarked wryly. “Some people do not like being looked at.”
“Yes, and in other places, gawping is said to make you look common,” Thalia responded absently.
“I’ve been scolded for that myself, more than once.
It’s very tiresome to have to pretend not to be interested in anything, simply for the sake of looking genteel.
Why, sometimes we’ll go to a ballroom that is most beautifully decorated.
I want to look around, of course, but I can’t.
And why? Because I will look uncouth. Ladies can’t be impressed.
Unless, of course, they’re listening to a gentleman’s long and boring story about fishing or cards. ”
Christian let out a surprised burble of laughter. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”
“I do,” she murmured fervently. “I do.”
The woman returned, this time flanked by a scruffy-looking man who was probably her husband.
“Sir, it’s wonderful to have a gentleman of your calibre here,” the man gushed. “I am Mr. Hobbs, and this is Mrs. Hobbs. Your food and beer will be out in a moment. We are glad to have you!”
Christian paused, frowning. “A gentleman of… my calibre?”
“Of course.” Mr. Hobbs made a vague gesture to encapsulate all of Christian. “It’s obvious.”
Damn, Christian thought moodily. Something has given me away. They won’t guess I’m a duke, but they might think that I’m a lord. What was it?
He glanced down at himself, and the glint of his freshly polished Hessians caught his eye.
Ah.
That, coupled with the undeniable high quality of his clothing, would likely tip them off.
Mr. and Mrs. Hobbs were no doubt skilled at reading their patrons.
They would have to tell at a glance who was respectable and who was not.
Who was likely to make trouble, who was likely to run out without paying their bill, and who was up to no good.
No wonder they’d sniffed him out.
With a sigh, he cast an apologetic look at Thalia, who had missed nothing of the interaction and was currently hiding a smile.
“We’re airing out our best bedroom for you,” Mrs. Hobbs added, with a wink and a nod. “The bridal suite.”
“That is very convenient,” Christian drawled, “because my wife and I are newlyweds.”
He was not entirely sure what mischief prompted him to say as much. At any rate, out it came.
Thalia bit back a shocked gasp, just in time to smile coyly when Mrs. Hobbs gave a cry of delight, clapping her hands together.
“Oh! Newlyweds! I can’t recall the last time newlyweds passed through here on the way out of London.
We get plenty of them on the way back, you know, traveling back from Gretna Green.
Disgraceful, it is, women marrying without their parents’ consent.
We turn them out if we discover them. You wouldn’t believe the lies people concoct in order to stay here with somebody they are not married to, sir,” she added, shaking her head at Christian.
“I’m sure I would not.”
“They say they are brother and sister but look nothing alike! And I certainly never looked at my brother the way those women do theirs.”
Thalia cleared her throat. When he glanced at her, she lifted her eyebrows meaningfully. See? the look seemed to say. I was right.
“Or they’ll claim to be wed but insist on separate rooms,” Mr. Hobbs piped up. “What foolishness!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Christian responded gravely.
He had intended to ask for separate rooms for himself and Thalia, but then it had occurred to him that she would need to be home before dawn.
Sneaking out of the house was all well and good until she got caught.
If Jonathan woke up in the morning and found her gone without a trace, every magistrate and Bow Street Runner in the city would be mobilized.
And there would be consequences. For one thing, Thalia’s reputation would never recover. There was never an instance where a young woman could spend the night away from home, alone. Never.
“Well then, let’s be grateful that you two are the real thing,” Mrs. Hobbs laughed, clapping her hands again.
“Just wed today?” Mr. Hobbs prompted. “Ah, how sweet. Let’s see a kiss, then.”
Christian stilled. “I think not, my good man.”
“Ah, indulge me! As Mr. Hobbs said, we don’t see many young married folks coming through here. On the first day of your union, I imagine you want to be kissing all the time!”
Christian opened his mouth to tell Mr. Hobbs in no uncertain terms that he would not be obliging him. Then he glanced back at Thalia and saw that flush creeping onto her face again. Something stirred in his gut, and he cleared his throat, shifting to try and tamp down the feeling.
“I don’t mind,” she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “We should oblige our hosts.”
Heat prickled down Christian’s spine. He glanced up beyond Mr. and Mrs. Hobbs’ fond, eager faces to the rest of the room. The pub was only half full, and while he could not see every face from here, none of them were turned his way.
“It can’t hurt,” he murmured to himself and rose to his feet.
Thalia rose too, stepping towards him, her eyes wide and breathless. He gingerly took her in his arms, as if she might break if he held her too firmly. His hand rose of its own accord, fingertips dancing over her chin. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes resting on her cheeks.
He leaned forward, carefully fitting his lips to hers. The kiss lasted no more than a second—a soft, chaste thing—but it filled him with a fire so intense that when he pulled back, he was shaking.
Mr. and Mrs. Hobbs, oblivious to his emotions, cheered, clapping loudly.
This, of course, drew the attention of the other patrons. Thalia glanced over at them, and her gaze sharpened.
“Oh no,” she breathed.
Christian followed her gaze just in time to see a familiar, shocked face staring back at them. At once, the woman leaped to her feet and charged away, her male companion hurrying after her.
Lady Pembroke? She’s the biggest gossip in town. If only I’d seen who she was here with. As it is, I have nothing to blackmail her with if she chooses to make this scene public.
No matter, I can manage her.
Christian gave Thalia a reassuring smile and opened his mouth to dismiss the Hobbses when something made him glance around the pub once more.
A woman now stood there in a grubby dress, torn at the hem, but still looked elegant. She was staring at him, her eyes wide. He stared back, unable to look away.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, a frown creasing her brow.
“I could ask you the same,” Christian managed weakly, “Laura.”