Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Rowena tried to keep her breathing steady as she settled herself into the unfamiliar coach.
What was she doing? This decision was not just strange, it was unheard of, ridiculous – perhaps even dangerous. What did she know of this man, whose life she had unceremoniously entered with little thought to the consequences?
It was a large coach, and splendidly designed, with the comfort of its passengers evidently thought through at every stage.
Her wandering eyes shied away from the other occupant.
Rowena bit her lip. She was so far gone beyond society’s expectations at this point that perhaps this latest wild decision barely mattered? No one would be any the wiser of her folly, she hoped, and that could include this rather unusual method of getting back home.
The coach jostled her slightly as it began moving, and Rowena sighed quietly. It was impossible not to accept the offer of a quicker route home, and now at least she should be able to move quickly.
She settled into the deep cushions of the handsome coach, and tried not to think of the damp patch that her sodden clothes were going to leave. Perhaps her rescuer had not considered that when he had given her the gift of fast travel back to her home.
The man who had invited her into the carriage was determinedly looking out of his window, and her curiosity about the gentleman overtook her. Rowena stared at him, trying to ascertain exactly what he was like.
He was handsome, there was no doubt about that.
Tall, from his advancement towards her outside the inn which had forced her heart to pound, and now that he was seated opposite her on the other side of the carriage, she could see the Grecian profile that gave him such an aristocratic look.
That he was noble seemed to be in no doubt: the wealth of the carriage, the indolent way he had spoken to the innkeeper, the bearing that he held even now, whilst only in view of herself.
And yet he seemed conscious of his handsome features, somehow. Rowena could not put her finger on what it was, but there was something knowing in his wry smile that was directed out of the carriage.
“Faster, Smith.”
The words were spoken by her companion in clipped tones, in that same deep voice that had cowed the innkeeper.
Rowena watched him for a few minutes in silence, desperate to say something but unsure exactly what words were correct for such a situation.
What sort of etiquette did this require?
Surely there was nothing quite like it – perhaps because, Rowena smiled to herself, there had never been another woman so foolish as herself to get in this situation!
“You know, he was right.”
Startled, Rowena stared at him. He had spoken without looking at her, as though they had resumed a conversation.
She swallowed. Suddenly, her throat seemed dry, and it was not the chill of her clothes that caused a shiver to move up her spine.
“Right?”
The gentleman turned to look at her, and she coloured immediately at the intensity of his gaze.
“It is ridiculous that we do not know each other’s names,” he said lightly. “Especially as we are now travel companions for what could be a relatively long journey. Marshurst, I think you said? ‘Tis at least two days away, and so it would make conversation much easier if I knew how to address you.”
Rowena swallowed. Had she not forced Mr Bentley to keep their secret as best she could? Would she now be foolish to give her real identity now?
“Rebecca Kirkland,” she invented wildly, her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap. “And you are?”
There was something of an intensity in his face that she could not bear, and with nowhere else to look in the enclosed carriage that did not run the risk of accidentally catching his gaze, Rowena looked outside the window. The rain was pouring down in sheets.
If she did not know any better, she would have said that he hesitated before he said, “James Paendly, at your service.”
If Rowena had hoped that silence would intimate to Mr Paendly that she would like to be left alone, she was sorely mistaken.
“What bad weather we are experiencing,” he remarked.
Rowena almost laughed aloud. The weather? There was hardly a more British pastime, it was true, than discussions about the weather, but it felt a little forced in this carriage rattling along at twelve miles an hour between two complete strangers.
“Yes, it is,” she said quietly, not taking her eyes away from the window. Surely he would understand from her silence that she did not wish to speak.
Apparently not.
“And are you drying off, Miss Kirkland?”
For a heart-stopping moment, Rowena almost turned around to stare at him, confused – but then remembered the false name that she had but moments ago given the gentleman. Her cheeks coloured slightly.
“No,” she said honestly, “I am not.”
In another life – goodness, only three days ago – she would have been mortified to give such a blunt answer to a gentleman, and one who was so evidently well born and well bred.
But the past twenty-four hours had changed Rowena, and she could not hide from that.
There was something harder in her now, she could feel it.
Something that did not tolerate fools, but was also less tolerant of herself.
It was a harshness, a coldness. Something that Mr Bentley had done to her.
“Well, I hope that this will be a quicker route home for you,” said Mr Paendly easily, and out of the corner of her eye, Rowena saw him stretch out his legs. “Marshurst is not far away, in the grand scheme of things.”
Rowena tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry.
What a fool she had been, giving her genuine destination to this man!
Why, it would not take him five minutes of conversation with anyone in Marshurst to discover her true identity, to learn of the scandal that she had left behind! How stupid she was!
Heart racing faster and faster, Rowena tried to keep her eyes away from him as she said, “But Marshurst is just a change in my journey, sir, not my final destination.”
Try as she might, she found it impossible to keep her gaze away from him – and was startled to find that Mr Paendly, handsome and incredibly present in the enclosed carriage, was staring directly at her.
A blush that she fought against and lost the battle with, spread across her cheeks.
“Miss Kirkland, have we ever met before?”
Rowena swallowed. He was a curious man, and that curiosity could be her very undoing.
“I…I do not think so,” she said slowly, returning her eyes to the window and the pouring rain. “I am rarely in town.”
She dropped back into silence again, hoping beyond hope that Mr Paendly would take the hint – but it was not to be.
“Now, that is a shame,” he said jovially. “Why?”
Rowena could feel her pulse quicken in her wrists as she clasped her hands together in her lap. This was insufferable – perhaps she would have been better of if she had stayed at the Wingston Inn for two additional days, waiting for the coach.
But no. By that time, Oscar – Mr Bentley – would have arrived back at his parents’ home, and without her. It would not do to spark the scandal this early.
“I am not fond of town,” she lied quietly. “I spend much of my time in…in Scotland. With my great-uncle.”
The lies tasted bitter against her tongue, but she had no choice: Mr Paendly was far too curious for his own good. Her heart thundered against her chest. It would never do for him to find out – or work out – her secret.
James could not help it: he could do nothing but stare. Had he ever felt more intrigued about another living soul on this earth?
He could not remember being so, and so the stare continued, even as he saw the pink flush of consciousness of his gaze creep across Miss Kirkland’s cheek as she looked resolutely out of the window.
There was nothing to see there; naught but mud and storm. She could only be fixated on it so sternly to avoid himself, and this suggested more questions than it answered. Why was she so vague about her destination, so secretive about why she was rarely in town? What was she hiding?
Now that she was sitting down mere feet from him and not standing dishevelled in the rain, James had the time to notice her incredibly fine eyes.
Large and full of expression, it seemed impossible for Miss Kirkland to hide what she was thinking at any point, something that endeared her to him immediately.
Why would you not wish to spend time around a woman so easily moved to deep emotion?
But the more he looked, the more detail he noticed.
Soft and rounded lips, frequently drawn together in a perfect mirror to the frown across her forehead.
Her gown, in the latest fashion as it was, clung to her waist and legs as it slowly started to dry.
Her hair starting to curl as the moisture left it, curling around her ear, frizzing around the base of her neck which curved delightfully into a heaving chest as she tried, and failed, to calm her breathing.
James grinned. He could only hope that it was himself that was having such an intense effect on her. Uncomfortable, she may be, but surely she had met gentleman like him before? The elegant stance, the rich clothes – she surely must be a relatively wealthy woman.
So what was she doing alone, standing in the rain, outside a mediocre inn?
“What were you doing there?”
In an instant, James realised that he had asked the question aloud, and cursed himself silently. Was it not clear that Miss Kirkland was already uncomfortable with him? But then, if you did not ask …
For the first time since she had stepped into his carriage, James received a proper reaction from her – but it was not a friendly one.
“That,” she snapped, turning to glare at him, “is none of your business. I have no desire or design to tell you anything, Mr Paendly, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep your impertinent questions to yourself.”