Chapter Two
Tabitha was intrigued. The pale and fragile gentleman she had taken pity on was curiously ageless.
Although he possessed the poise of a much older man, the lines of pain and suffering seemed etched into a much younger face.
There was something at once frail and strong about him that she had never come across before, and it did not hurt that he was tall-ish and handsome in a fine-boned, almost breakable kind of a way.
And his deep, soft voice seemed to do something very strange and melty to her bones.
When she had glimpsed him from the carriage window, he had been striding out with grace and a sort of indefatigable sense of freedom that attracted her at once.
He had proved to be good mannered and shy, and remarkably un-disgruntled by his misfortune.
Not quite like anyone else she had ever met.
He said odd things, humorous things with a straight face.
Always attracted by novelty, she had also rather liked the diffident admiration she read in his eyes, until he had gazed at her with such speculation when she mentioned the name Lisle.
Disappointment that he was not different after all was unexpectedly intense. And yet he did not appear remotely shocked, only surprised, as if he had never heard of her reputation and didn’t much care anyway.
He was, she reflected, a mysterious youth, drifting alone about the countryside. It did cross her mind that he was evading the law—but she had heard of no recent duels save Lord Durward’s latest, and this Mr. De’Ath seemed far too educated and civilized for other forms of crime.
When she lapsed into silence, so did he, almost as though he respected her right not to make conversation if she chose.
In fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable with it.
Watching him surreptitiously, she almost wished they had not told each other their names, so that they could remain strangers, attracted to each other, and able to act on that attraction or not without embarrassment or repercussions.
She wondered again how old he was, though it scarcely mattered.
With that face and that poise, he would have some experience of women.
Her gaze rested on his thin, long lips, firm and yet gentle in repose.
She wondered how he would kiss, and then, more shockingly, what kind of a lover he would be. ..
Hastily, she looked away. This was no time—or place—for dalliance. After all, she was too close to home, where she meant to collect Lily and take her to Louisa Hawthorn’s gathering.
She cast him another speculative glance. “I suppose you are going to Lady Hawthorne’s party?”
“I am not acquainted with Lady Hawthorn. Is that your destination?”
“When my baggage and my maid catch up with me and I have collected my stepdaughter.”
Something changed in his eyes, though she could not quite read it. “Are you a wicked stepmother too?”
“So Sark tells me, but my husband willed her care to me until she marries.”
“Is that occasion imminent?” he asked.
“Not if I have any say in the matter—and I do. Eighteen is too young to be married.”
An odd look came into his eyes. “And yet many people are.”
“Including me,” she said with deliberate lightness.
His perceptive gaze was suddenly unbearable, and she looked away. The thought of her late husband still made her shudder. At least she now had the power to prevent a similar disaster for Lily.
“How long have you been widowed?” he asked.
“Two years and three months. Too late for condolences.” It had always been too late for those. “What will you do in Cogglesworth?”
She risked a glance at him and his serious expression relaxed into surely the sweetest smile she had ever seen on a man.
“I hope to dine with you.”
Her eyebrows flew up. What shocked her was not that he had asked, but that she was so tempted to accept. Even as she knew she could not.
Perhaps he read the conflict in her face, for he said gravely, “I shan’t use the occasion to importune or seduce.”
Laughter took her by surprise, because he had used her own words back at her. But she met his gaze like a challenge. “Then it is as well that I have bespoken the inn’s one private parlour, is it not?”
***
THEY ARRIVED IN COGGLESWORTH late in the afternoon, and on the innkeeper’s directions, Mr. De’Ath went off immediately to buy a new horse.
Foolishly, perhaps, Tabitha looked forward to her quiet supper with him.
Despite her previous experiences with the male of the species, she tended to believe his declaration of gentlemanly conduct, and while part of her might have been piqued, the more important, thinking parts, liked the absence of all that silliness. She wanted to know him better.
The George was not a posting house, but a quiet, almost rural inn on the edge of the town, where she was known.
It was usually her last stopping place before Sark Park.
She did not even have to worry about her dress, for she carried with her only an overnight bag.
He would have to put up with her in her travelling gown, which was admittedly fashionable as well as becoming.
Laughing at herself, she went down to her private parlour, where the table was already set, and was brought a glass of sherry by the innkeeper’s wife.
As she sipped it, it struck her suddenly that Mr. De’Ath might simply gallop off on his new horse, with or without apology. That would be...disappointing.
But it seemed he had not. The innkeeper showed him into the room only a minute later and poured him a glass of sherry too.
Again, she was struck by the extraordinary fragility of his appearance.
There seemed to be not an ounce of fat on his body and the pale skin of his face stretched taut over the fine bones.
Yet there was nothing languid about him.
Every movement had an air of suppressed energy; his whole face was alive with interest, curiosity, and sheer vitality that fascinated her. Had she ever been so enthused for life?
Once, perhaps, before she met it head-on in marriage.
“Well?” she asked languidly, as he sat opposite her by the empty fireplace. “Did you locate a suitable horse?”
“I did. A friendly creature.”
“Friendly?” she repeated. “Was that your chief requirement?”
His smile was endearingly sheepish. “Yes.”
“Most gentlemen will choose something showy, or a beast with proven stamina or particular bloodlines.”
“I require none of those.”
“Then you don’t hunt?”
“No.” Was that a trace of regret? “Do you?”
“I have done. I enjoyed the danger.”
A hint of something very like longing sparked in his eyes before they focused on her. “Why?”
It was so totally unexpected that she almost panicked to find an answer. She waved one languid arm. “Oh, just to relieve the monotony, you know. Life in the country can be confoundedly dull.”
“That is true,” he said with unexpected fervour.
“Yet you do not strike me as much of a Town man.”
“I’m sure I don’t. Which is your preference?”
She sipped her sherry and considered. “I believe I like to keep moving.”
He smiled as though he agreed. He had a singularly sweet smile, at once boyish and appreciative, quite without malice.
“Tell me about your life, Mr. De’Ath,” she said lightly. “Do you have an occupation, or do you ride your ancestral acres at leisure?”
“I have been known to ride my acres,” he said. “But my life has been extraordinarily dull. I would rather learn about yours. Did you like being married?”
“No,” she said before she realized that both the question and the answer were outrageous.
“Because you were only eighteen?”
“The fault was naturally mine,” she said cynically.
“Do you have children?”
“No.” Perhaps that would have made it all more bearable. “But I have several stepdaughters, all but one of them married with children of their own. Which makes me a grandmother, so they tell me.”
His gaze was uncomfortably penetrating, so she was quite glad that the inn servants bustled in with their meal. With perfect courtesy, Mr. De’Ath conducted her to the table and held her chair for her before seating himself. When the soup and side-dishes had been served, she waved the servants away.
“So, what have you done in your life, Mr. De’Ath?” she said.
He seemed to be ready for her this time, for he answered entertainingly and fluently.
He had, apparently, stayed in a gypsy encampment and danced at a wedding there.
He had learned how to lay bricks and dig ditches.
He had watched a prize fight and spent the night in the stable of an inn called the Duck and Spoon, because all the rooms were occupied by inebriated young gentlemen.
He had sung questionable drinking songs with some farm labourers on market day and run away from the local watchmen.
He had met a missionary clergyman on his way to Africa and had almost gone with him just for the adventure.
“Why didn’t you?” Tabitha asked, fascinated.
The spellbinding light of fun faded from his eyes. “Oh, responsibilities, you know? And I don’t think I would make a very good missionary. I would almost certainly be more interested in novel heathen beliefs than my own. But I am glad to count the clergyman amongst my new friends.”
“Then this was recently?” she asked, surprised. She made a discovery. “It was all recently! You, sir, have slipped your leash.”
He grinned, for all the world like a shy but mischievous schoolboy caught with his hand in the biscuit barrel. She knew a sudden urge to go with him as he followed his nose from place to place, seeing the world anew through his ever-curious perspective.
And then it came to her exactly what kind of leash he was escaping. The same one that had confined her for four years.
“Mr. De’Ath, are you married?”
She was annoyed with herself as soon as she had asked. She did not want to know if she was entertaining someone else’s husband. He wore no rings of any kind.