Chapter Four #3
Prue sat fidgeting, waiting for the time to pass.
Finally, at the sound of Roland’s bedchamber door closing on the same floor as hers, she waited for another half an hour to be sure he’d gone to bed, then she slipped out.
A lighted candle held high to light her way, she went downstairs while avoiding the treads she knew from years of experience would creak.
An hour later, after she’d saddled a gelding aided by a small lantern, she urged the horse into a trot along the drive.
Once well past the house, she urged him into a canter.
Snugly dressed in her father’s greatcoat and hat, and her valise strapped to the saddle, a rise of exhilaration flooded through her as she rode on guided by the light of a sulky moon.
She’d never ridden the big roan before, and he made his disgust at leaving the warm stable known as he sidled and tossed his head.
“Easy, Dancer.” Prue patted his glossy neck and spoke quietly to him, and finally, he settled into a smooth rhythm. They cantered along the road toward the village. With luck, in a few hours, she would have reached the inn and later, boarded the stage bound for London. Freedom was within her grasp!
With still a few miles before she reached the town, Dancer pulled up with a decided limp.
Muttering an extremely satisfying curse she’d heard stablehands use, she dismounted.
The horse had cast a shoe. Prue groaned.
She took hold of the bridle and walked with the animal along the road as the sky lightened in the east. Bone weary, her thighs and bottom aching, she would sell her soul for the comfort of a cup of hot tea and one of Cook’s raisin muffins.
Still not within sight of the village, Prue limped along with a rubbed heel while the horse, objecting, neighed and tried to pull away from her.
The exhilaration of earlier had ebbed away because of the fear she’d be too late to join the stagecoach.
Prue ran her bottom lip through her teeth and swallowed.
Crying wouldn’t help. She mustn’t give up.
At the clatter of horses’ hooves on the road behind her, she stopped; her breath caught, and her pulse hammered.
Was it Roland? Had he found her gone and had come after her?
When the curricle came into view, she almost sagged at the knees with relief.
It wasn’t Roland. The unfamiliar vehicle drew closer, drawn by a pair of fine gray thoroughbreds.
A gentleman! She whipped the glasses from her coat pocket and donned them, peering through them at the distorted view.
She might be able to get a ride to the village, with her horse tied behind.
All was not yet lost. It suited her plans to leave the horse at the stables there and arrange for someone from Sedgwick Hall to fetch it.
The shiny, midnight-blue vehicle had reached her, the lanterns swinging, the superb horses snorting as the gentleman, who was alone, pulled on the reins.
“May I assist you, sir?”
Oh, no! Prue swallowed a groan. Despite the lack of a clear view through the glasses, she recognized his broad shoulders and the deep timbre of his voice.
Lord Hereford! She hastily tugged the hat lower on her forehead.
He mustn’t discover who she was. He might insist on driving her back to Sedgwick Hall.
Or worse, would he take her somewhere else and ravish her?
Suddenly vulnerable, she stiffened as he leaned over to greet her.
*
The slight, odd-looking hunched figure in the overlarge greatcoat looked decidedly out of place with that finely boned horse. Undoubtedly shifty. Especially as he hid his face with the brim pulled low.
“Me ’orse ’as cast a shoe. If you could give me a lift to the next town,” he mumbled in a hoarse voice, pulling the coat tightly around his narrow frame with one hand while holding the bridle of the big, restive gelding with the other. “I’d sure be appreciative, sir.”
“Happy to.” Jack wondered if he would be set upon as he tied off the reins and jumped down.
The handsome thoroughbred must have been worth five hundred pounds at market, which further stirred Jack’s suspicion.
Was he about to have a pistol poked in his ribs should he take the strange fellow up?
If the horse had been stolen, Jack would have no truck with that, his pistol at the ready tucked into a pocket.
The spindly chap could easily be overcome if the need arose. And Jack was curious.
With the horse tied behind the curricle, he took up the reins again after the man made heavy work of climbing up onto the seat beside him.
“Good of you, sir. Me name’s Joseph Smith,” he said in a rough voice, but as he kept his head bent, Jack couldn’t make out much more than a flash from a pair of spectacles in the small, pale face.
“Viscount Hereford,” Jack replied, wondering if the man was wanted by the law.
He was a puzzle, all right. The coat and hat were quality purchases from the best London tailors.
But his voice wasn’t that of a gentleman.
And damn it if he didn’t smell of roses.
As Jack flicked the reins and drove on, the fellow sat stiff and silent beside him, clutching his portmanteau.
“Where are you off to?” Jack asked after a moment’s strained silence.
“To visit me ma,” the fellow said, without looking up, before falling silent again.
Jack gave up any attempt to draw him into conversation. He’d be free of the odd fellow within a half hour.
They proceeded along the road as the sky lightened from violet gray to a soft orange-gold with the rising sun.
When they entered the main street, Jack pulled up the curricle outside the stables.
His passenger muttered thanks and scrambled awkwardly down.
He looked as if he’d lose his breeches at any minute, and also the hat, which was far too large.
Odd, decidedly odd. But England was full of strange folk, and this fellow seemed harmless enough.
Jack joined him at the back of the curricle, where the fellow was fumbling to untie his horse, his fingers clumsy in the outsized gloves. “Allow me.” Jack moved closer.
As the man stepped back to make space for Jack, a waft of delicate rose-scented perfume arose, and a long, strand of glorious, ruby-red hair escaped from beneath the hat.
“Well, I’ll be…” Startled, Jack bent his knees and peered beneath the brim of the hat, then grunted in surprise. He gently eased off the overlarge glasses. Wide, sea-green eyes stared back at him.
“What the devil? Lady Prudence?”