Chapter Four
R osilee entered the dining room of the inn where they were spending the night, and her eyes found him instantly. The duke sat alone at a table against the wall next to a window. His large frame and dark presence were impossible to miss among the other guests, even though he was cast slightly in shadows. His entire demeanor screamed: Do not approach.
Rosilee smiled.
He might seem like a grumpy bear, but she suspected his heart was softer than heated butterscotch. Her gaze shifted to the window, where droplets of rain splattered against the glass. The rain had started an hour before they had reached the town, and she’d insisted Ben and Bishop share the carriage then. And the rain was no mere drizzle; it was a downpour, heavy and merciless, and it showed no signs of stopping. They had been forced to stop for the night earlier than expected.
She strode over and wiggled into a chair across from the duke.
His vivid green eyes met hers. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I ordered some ale and tea. We can change the order if you wish for something else.”
“No need,” Rosilee replied, glancing around the room. “Whatever you ordered is fine.” She wasn’t all that hungry either. Her appetite had diminished after Leopold’s letter. Her gaze hopped over the guests. All the tables were occupied, and a lively chatter filled the space while a rich, spicy aroma filled the air. It was all rather soothing.
“What is so interesting?” the duke asked.
Rosilee chuckled at the wariness in his question, her gaze sliding from an older couple back to him. “Do you not find people interesting? Watching them?”
“I do not.”
“Really? I quite enjoy it.”
“Why?”
Such a flat tone! “I’m not sure.” Rosilee pursed her lips in thought. “I merely enjoy watching people’s mannerisms and facial expressions. I imagine their stories, both current and past. It’s a fun pastime.”
“You mean you spin imaginary tales of love.”
She laughed. “Love, yes, but most importantly, their adventures. It calms my soul.”
He nodded slowly, then said, “You do seem calmer now than before.”
“Calm er ? Wasn’t I calm before?” Well. You did wave a horse down in the middle of a road and nearly get run over. Upon reflection, she could see how he might think she may have been exhibiting the behavior of an erratic woman. Heh.
“I prefer not to answer that.”
Rosilee narrowed her gaze at his hand, tugging at his cravat. “A wise choice, Duke. In any event, things are finally going according to plan.” As much as they could, anyway. Before today, she had never considered the possibility that the only way to get out of one marriage might be to marry someone else. But she also wasn’t the sort of person who lamented what circumstance threw at her. This was the moment she had come to, so she would do what needed to be done.
She would save her brother.
She would save herself.
She would save their home.
I refuse to bow to a blackmailer.
But enough of that. “Where are Ben and Mr. Bishop?”
“You haven’t spotted them in your perusal of the guests?”
Rosilee started, her gaze tracking over the dining room again. Ah . She found them not far away in another shadowy corning, doing what she enjoyed best—surveying people. “Well, wouldn’t you know, even they like people watching.”
“It’s Bishop’s job.”
And of course, Ben would follow suit.
A bouncy young girl with a bright smile brought a tray with their beverages, sparing Rosilee from having to retort to that sour reply. She paused when the duke accepted the tea and pushed the ale her way.
“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You said you were fine with what I ordered.”
“The ale was for me?”
He shrugged. “You look like the sort of woman who chugs them down by the barrel.”
This man! “Is that a compliment or insult?”
His green eyes flashed. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
Hah! She took a sip of her ale, studying him over the rim of her tankard. There was something about him... his eyes perhaps? They looked so familiar that her heart pinched every time their gazes locked.
But they couldn’t really be familiar. She’d never met the man before. It must just be a trick of the brain. Yes, it must be that.
Her gaze dropped to the tiny cup in his big hands. “And you? You prefer tea over ale? That is rather surprising.”
“I don’t enjoy the effect of drink.”
He didn’t enjoy observing people, and he didn’t enjoy ale.
She had never encountered a man like him before.
A sudden gust flowed through the dining room, and Rosilee lifted her gaze to the doors, where a large silhouette appeared, looming.
No . . .
Surely not!
Baston?
What was he doing here? Had he discovered that she’d left her home? She darted beneath the table, narrowly avoiding knocking over her chair. If she weren’t so panicked, she’d have laughed at the expression of utter confusion on the duke’s face as she went under.
Sorry, but I can’t let him see me!
“Quick!” she hissed. “The blanket on the back of your chair—drape it over your lap!” Rosilee squeezed herself into the narrow space, making herself as small as possible, though his long legs made it almost impossible.
His low voice followed, “What the blazes are you doing?”
“Just do it!” Anything that might provide additional coverage.
The man breathed out a soft curse but did as he was told. The moment the blanket covered his legs, she edged closer, snatching up a part of the fabric to cover herself as she tucked herself between the duke and the wall. Her legs slipped beneath his, the brush of contact sending a flutter of pulses down her spine.
A hiss left his mouth. “Do you mind telling me what the devil is going on?”
“We have a bit of a problem,” she hissed back.
“I can feel that.”
Rosilee shut her eyes.
It couldn’t be helped.
Drat that Baston! Why did he have to show up now of all times? What if he had seen her? Would it result in pistols drawn? Would she be able to escape in the chaos if that occurred? She burrowed deeper into her spot that served as a shelter between her and her foe. Amidst the conversations and clinking spoons and knives that cloaked her sanctuary, her senses strained for the faintest sound of any villainous footsteps drawing near.
There were.
She could hear the unmistakable tap of boots.
But were they villainous?
“Ah, if it isn’t the Duke of Crane,” the familiar voice came, and Rosilee stiffened. Yes, they were very villainous indeed! “Fancy meeting a duke at a place like this.”
“Dukes are people, too,” came the clipped answer.
“Of course. However, forgive me for pointing this out, but I heard you were a serious recluse.”
She’d almost forgotten. The duke had ties to Baston, and their exchange suggested they were far from being on friendly terms, which could be considered promising for her. But doubt had a curious way of slithering into a person’s bones. Had she made the right decision to accept the duke’s help?
“Do you have company?” Baston asked.
“I don’t.” Curt.
“Really? Are you sure?”
Rosilee’s heart pounded, recalling her tankard of ale, still on the table, an irrefutable indication of company. Her blood chilled. He wouldn’t... he wouldn’t peek under the table, would he? Discovering her crouched there, like a rabbit caught in a trap?
Her chair scraped as Baston pulled it out more and sat down. “Then you don’t mind if I join you for a drink?”
The duke’s retort came swiftly. “I do.”
She minded, too!
The chair groaned under Baston’s weight, mocking her. Rosilee bit her lip and shrank back from the pair of feet that joined, trying not to breathe too loudly. The duke shifted, the fabric of his trousers brushing against her as he stretched his legs, subtly reinforcing the barrier between her and discovery.
Lord above, how had she gotten herself in such a dangerous, not to mention compromising, position?
“Are you always this rude?” the duke said in a low growl.
Rosilee glared at Baston’s rotten leg. She could just imagine his oily smile.
“I’m a man of many talents, Your Grace. Rudeness is only one of them.”
“You should add obliviousness to your list. You are trespassing on my space.”
Baston’s laughter made Rosilee’s skin crawl.
“Why so defensive, Your Grace? I was merely hoping for some pleasant company. A man can get lonely on the road.”
What lonely? The man must be accompanied by his entire legion of henchmen! She burned to steal a glance at the duke, to read his expression, but she didn’t dare move.
“Some company,” the icy response came, “is not worth entertaining.”
Baston’s chair creaked, and Rosilee flinched, swallowing her breath.
As if sensing her dread, the duke’s leg nudged closer, and drat, her breath stayed trapped for an entirely different reason.
Honestly!
How had her day come to this?
Damnation. Damnation. Damnation.
Blake sat half frozen, half on fire in his chair, the effects of Rosilee’s nearness seeping into all the wrong places. Confound it, what did he do wrong to end in a position such as this?
What did you do right?
He pushed down the whisper of that beast.
How the hell was he supposed to endure the sensation of even the slightest of grazes without a hint of reaction? And why the devil didn’t he just cuff this arse and drag him to the nearest shipping yard to be found by whoever happened across him? “What brings you here, Baston? Are not the places you haunt generally seedier?”
“I’m simply seeking shelter from the rain.”
An answer but not an answer.
Blake arched a brow but said nothing. Where was Bishop when he needed him? Why hadn’t his poor choice in judgement intervened yet?
Devil take it.
But then, Bishop had been the one to deal with Baston from the start and may have his own reason for staying in the shadows. Blake had only met the man once, when he had visited to the estate, offering top-notch horses.
Which was how Baston had caught their attention.
He had presented himself as the sort to solve problems. A man with a talent to charm. However, even then, Blake had sensed a quality that he could not quite name about the man.
A honeyed tongue could conceal a thousand lies. Only actions spoke to the truest self.
This arse.
Blake grunted in his heart.
He still didn’t know what had come over Bishop to enlist Baston’s services to handle the bandits—he usually had better judgement. But then, a part of that fault lay with him as well. Hadn’t he been so eager for just one line of news about Lady Rosilee that he had overlooked Bishop’s methods?
He couldn’t even be angry at his right-hand man, for this or anything else—not really—however much he might grumble or complain.
After dragging Bishop from that ditch five years ago, the man had sworn he wouldn’t leave Blake’s side until Blake set foot outside of his estate. And he’d kept his promise faithfully. It couldn’t be denied that he’d always had Blake’s best interests at heart.
And now, Bishop had finally gotten his way—Blake had set foot outside his estate.
He wondered if his Bishop would now finally be on his way after this journey. If so, he could at least spare Blake the misery of dealing with Baston alone. He hadn’t resigned yet, damn it.
“Well,” Blake said finally, deciding to put a blunt end to this conversation. “you’ve come to the right place if shelter is what you seek.” Now get lost.
The man leaned back in his chair. “I’m also searching for someone.”
Blake took a sip of tea, studying the man hard over the rim of his cup. “I see. Good luck in finding them.”
Baston arched a brow.
Blake arched one back.
“Most people would express sympathy,” Baston said.
“Given the rumors circling about you these days, sympathy is the last thing most people would express, I’d wager.”
Baston laughed. “You hear rumors holed up on your estate?”
“Everyone seems to know everything about me.” Blake scoffed. “Do I look holed up at the moment?”
“No, I suppose you do not.”
Hell and damnation.
Blake would have liked nothing more than to rise and turn his back on the man, but doing that would leave Lady Rosilee stranded beneath the table. Worse, she might even rise along with him, for it surely felt like she’d wrapped herself around him like an octopus, though, of course, she had done no such thing.
Even so, the image that impression provoked still nearly made him choke.
Baston crossed his arms and stretched out his legs, and Blake instantly felt a body press up against his leg, “If I didn’t know any better,” he said, “I’d think a thousand ants had crawled all over your body. But I don’t see any ants.”
There was crawling, but it was no ant.
“But I do,” Blake announced with the lift of his chin. “An uninvited one.” An ant he would rather have scurry off before he blurted something that would alert Lady Rosilee to the fact that Blake had been spying on her for years. Though, honestly, could requesting regular news about her goings on really be called spying?
Yes, Blake . Yes, it could.
Baston suddenly scraped back his chair and rose to his feet. “I can see my welcome has not been met with eagerness. I shall not trouble Your Grace any longer.”
“Much obliged.”
Blake watched the man walk off and greet four men at the door. This was not good. The delays Bishop had orchestrated so that he could catch up with Lady Rosilee had allowed this blackguard to catch up as well. Which begged the question, did he know of her plans? It was as likely as not. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to deduce.
Lady Rosilee nudged his leg. “Is he gone?”
“No.”
After a moment, her soft voice drifted up to him again. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”
Blake’s lips twitched upward for a second. “I’m not.”
An unintelligible mutter met his answer.
Moments later, Baston disappeared with his men. “He’s gone.”
A rustle. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Blake murmured, gooseflesh spreading over his legs. “But he might return. You should keep your head covered with the blanket.”
“Then we must be quick. I must get to my room without being seen. Or better yet, we could leave this place.”
Blake glanced at the window. “Not in this rain.”
The heat of her body left his legs, and the blanket was drawn with her. “Drat it. I know.”
“I hate to ask this,” Blake murmured, “but does anyone else know of your plans?”
“Only Evangeline, my maid,” came the answer from under the table. “Why?”
“Is it possible that she might have told him?”
“ Im possible.”
He’d reserve judgement on that. In all his years, the truest thing he had learned in life was that a man could never trust anyone with his life or his secrets. When pushed into a corner, it was still hard to tell what a person might say or do. Lady Rosilee, perhaps, was the only exception for him.
“Are you planning to stay under there all night? If so, then I shall order more tea.”
She peeked up from beneath the table on the opposite end from him, her eyes meeting his. “Is that amusement I detect? How novel!” Her eyes darted around. “Nevertheless, if it keeps me safe from him, I might just consider it, but that will mean you shall also have to sit here the entire night nursing a scowl.”
He could easily nurse the sight of her all night long. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before turning to locate Bishop. He still sat in the corner, his cap pulled low, shadowing his face but not obstructing his vision. He gave Blake a nod before rising and heading in the direction Baston had taken. As sharp as ever.
But only when it damn well suited him.
He must have his reasons.
“Bishop will make sure the coast is clear.” Blake turned back to Lady Rosilee. “However, we shouldn’t discount the idea that Baston might already know of your plans.”
“But my plans have changed, remember? You’re going to help me. And he doesn’t know about that. Besides, I doubt he would ever imagine I would approach Mrs. Dove-Lyon even if he thought I might go to London to find a husband.”
Right.
Christ.
He was helping her look for a husband. What the devil had besieged him to do that? He must have lost his damn mind. But then, he could see no other alternative. Hopefully, it wouldn’t have to come to the point where she had to marry to escape this disaster named Baston. No, he would never allow it to come to that.
Even if that meant he . . .
No.
Not that either.
If they were fortunate, Lady Rosilee wouldn’t have to wed at all. And course, at this very moment, his men should be searching for her brother. He could even purchase them a new estate if they couldn’t find the papers the pup had signed, if they had truly lost their home. Baston was a crafty bastard. He would not have risked such a scheme without the necessary records.
And Baston would be a fool not to keep any papers he might have on him.
Perhaps Blake should just live up to the monster his father claimed him to be and get rid of the man himself.
No, damn it.
He couldn’t do that.
He glanced at the woman who slowly appeared out from under the table. He couldn’t do that because of her. And then, it struck him again—this time much harder.
Almost a blow to his gut.
He had never recoiled from her closeness.
I truly don’t mind her touch.