12. Chapter 12
Throughout the endless crossing, which in sum total took no more than an hour, Annabelle kept a grip on Buttercup’s reins and her eyes fixed on the mainland shoreline—when the bobbing craft and waves did not collude to obliterate her view.
She murmured soothing words into the animal’s pricking ears while smoothing her hand down the horse’s neck.
In truth, the mare seemed unfazed by the journey, unlike Annabelle herself.
She wondered if Lord Randall noticed her discomfiture.
She dared not look at him, though she could swear she felt his dark gaze drift toward her again and again, not that it interfered with the running conversation between him and the ship’s captain, a jovial man with whom he was apparently on friendly terms.
Then finally, finally, the captain and his mates ran the coble up onto a strip of shingle. Soon the planks were laid, and she and Lord Randall led their mounts onto shore.
“I apologize,” Lord Randall said in a low voice as they started up the slope toward the flat land.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, feigning ignorance, although she feared the heat rising in her cheeks gave her away.
“I should have asked if you were prone to seasickness.”
“Seasickness? Of course I’m not.”
The dubious look he sent her confirmed he’d noted her discomfiture aboard the small craft.
“I’ve never suffered from motion sickness, Lord Randall,” she insisted.
“As you say.”
“I tell you, I haven’t. I simply…” She broke off, belatedly realizing she’d have been better off leaving the man to his fallacious conclusion. Granted, she abhorred being thought feeble for any reason. But the truth was no less embarrassing.
Cresting the hill, he reached across her, snagging her horse’s reins and drawing it to a halt. “Go on.”
With his muscular arm blocking her way, she had little choice but to do his bidding.
In truth, she’d have answered him in any case. Something about the lack of censure in his quiet command.
“I have long had a…an unreasonable fear of the sea. Being on it, or in it.” She shook her head, making light of the revelation which had elicited no shortage of criticism from her parents and brother over the years.
“We took a family holiday in Brighton when I was a child. There was an incident. A silly mishap. I’ve had the aversion ever since. ” She fixed him with a defiant stare.
He searched her eyes. “What sort of mishap?”
“Nothing that need concern you.”
After a moment, he lowered his arm and they continued toward the narrow dirt track into Fenwick.
Dropping his horse’s reins, he turned to her, expression neutral. “May I?”
Before she knew what he was about, he’d wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto her saddle as if she weighed no more than a child.
In the next instant, he swung his big body up onto his own horse, a magnificent black beast standing at least seventeen hands.
She swallowed and told herself not to be impressed by the man’s obvious physical prowess.
“The inn is this way, if I remember correctly?” He inclined his head.
She nodded.
“After you.”
They rode in silence, plodding through grassy farmland single-file until they reached a rutted gravel road, and the heart of the rural village.
Once there, Lord Randall rode beside her.
A pervasive sense of gloom descended on her, the closer they came to the inn. She imagined him abandoning her immediately, leaving her to return the mare and make her way to the inn alone. He might, however, see her safely inside. With Lord Randall, she could not reliably predict.
The man was surly to the point of rude one minute, and the next, displayed a gentle, even gallant nature she found almost more disturbing. Certainly more unsettling.
And then there had been that timeless moment, last night, under the stars, when he’d held her as if he couldn’t bear any distance between them.
Now, to look at him, one would think their life-altering kiss had never happened.
Awash with too many feelings, she drew a shuddering breath and cast him a sidelong glance.
His gaze snapped to hers, dark eyes flaring, a ruddy stain darkening his cheeks as if he looked into her mind and knew precisely about what she thought.
She jerked to face forward. He didn’t. He couldn’t.
“Where is the stable?” he asked, voice low. “I’ll see to your mare and pay any extra fees you might have incurred.”
She hadn’t thought of that. The inn had likely wondered if and when she intended to return their property.
She started to tell him she had money of her own stored in her valise to cover her expenses, then decided against it.
Let him pay. After all, it was his fault she’d come all this way, and his fault she would leave empty-handed.
Minutes later, she entered the inn, back stiff, turning to catch one last glimpse of him after he’d ridden away, her horse in tow. Her throat went tight. In all likelihood, she would never see the man again.
Or maybe she would, at a soiree some London Season. He’d have to return at some point. He had responsibilities to his title, didn’t he? So it stood to reason their paths would cross again.
By then, one or both of them would be married.
At the mere thought of seeing another woman on his arm, her stomach threatened to upend the breakfast she’d ingested.
Better never to see him again, she decided, and swept toward the reception desk where, as before, the innkeeper’s wife presided to greet the guests.
The unexceptional woman sent Annabelle a jovial smile. “Lady Woodville. Very pleasant to see you again. Will you be booking another room?”
Annabelle frowned at her. “No, of course not. One is more than enough. Kindly provide my key. Additionally, I wish a bath delivered, at once.” She held out her gloved hand.
The lady blinked at her palm. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Annabelle was not in the mood for any further inconveniences. Her boots had gotten wet boarding the small craft, and thanks to her mare’s unease—all right, her unease—she smelled like a musty animal. And she absolutely had to get out of this dress.
“What sort of misunderstanding? You can’t have given someone else my guest chamber. Unless you tossed my…Miss Dunn out on her ear.”
With a sinking stomach, it occurred to her that Lucy had a sharp tongue on her when dealing with other servants, and it would be just like the girl to cause mayhem in Annabelle’s absence.
The innkeeper’s wife’s smile showed signs of strain. “No, my lady. In fact, the opposite occurred. Your companion informed my husband and myself that you had made alternate plans and would not return.”
Annabelle was speechless. Lucy had far overreached.
“Oh, now that I think of it, she left a message for you, just in case. Very specific, she was, and asked that I take it down, though why she couldn’t write it out for herself I have no idea,” she finished on a mutter, then bent to search the shelving below the countertop.
Papers rustled, then the woman straightened, unfolding a sheet of parchment. She read silently, brows knitting together, and glanced up at Annabelle. “I’m afraid the note doesn’t make much sense.”
“Oh, just give it to me. Please,” Annabelle snapped as an afterthought, and took the note.
Dear Lady Woodville, if you come back following the incident, please know I followed your instructions to the letter and mum’s the word. I am returning home and await further instruction.
Goodness gracious. Lucy had returned to London—without her.
At least she had not spilled the beans regarding her identity. That was something.
Annabelle sent the lady before her a forced smile. “The weather. It…er…proved too arduous a journey for Miss Dunn,” she explained. “By the way, the guide, Mr. Blackwell. I wouldn’t recommend him to future guests.”
“I shall bear that in mind. Well, madam? Would you like another room?” She peered around Annabelle pointedly. “For you and your…er…companion? I don’t believe you’ll make the train to London tonight.”
Oh, dear. Staying in an inn with a fake chaperone was one thing.
But a woman alone? The notion was unthinkable.
Traveling to London alone was equally out of the question.
If her parents discovered what she’d done, if word got out…
Drat Lucy for leaving her. It would serve the woman right if she sacked her for this.
On the other hand, she had witnessed Annabelle being held at gunpoint, after which Annabelle had not returned.
She could have sought help...
Then again, Annabelle had warned the woman that if she dared breathe a word of her true identity to anyone, or let on that she was not Annabelle’s chaperone, but her maid, she would find herself summarily unemployed. She probably felt she had no choice but to return to London with her ticket.
Annabelle was, she was forced to concede, at least partially responsible for the situation in which she currently found herself.
“Madam?” The proprietress prodded.
“I don’t suppose she left my things?”
With a regretful smile, the woman shook her head.
Oh dear. Now what?
Lord Randall would have to help her, of course. Had he already gone? She must catch him before he departed the stables.
Fisting her skirts in her hands, she whirled around, dashed out onto the walk—then froze at the heart-stopping sight of Lord Sterling Randall, leaning negligently against the exterior wall, arms folded over his chest.
***
“Lord Randall, what are you doing here?” Lady Annabelle asked, breathless.
Exactly what he wanted to know. Why had he returned?
His grandfather would say he was behaving honorably. Zeke, his closest friend, would say he was a sap—not that he had room to talk the way he doted on his future countess. And why in bloody hell was Sterling thinking about Zeke and his recent marriage at a time like this?
The bottom line was he’d needed to make sure Annabelle was settled before returning to Holy Island. He didn’t intend to tell her that, however.
“I set the stablemen to watering my horse and decided it was in my best interest to ascertain that you’re setting off for London on the first train out,” he said. All true, of course.
She bristled visibly, but seemed to regain the composure she’d lacked when bursting through the door. “I see.” A considering light shone in her blue eyes. “As to that…” she sank her straight white teeth into her lower lip, the same lower lip he’d wanted to sink his teeth into last night.
And all blasted day, damn his eyes.
“There’s a slight problem.”
He straightened from the wall. “Go on.”
She gave an airy laugh. “It seems my…er…chaperone departed without me.”
He had not seen that turn of events coming. Slight problem, indeed. “Why on earth would she do that?”
Lady Annabelle glanced around her as if assuring no one eavesdropped.
Evidently not satisfied by the empty walkway, she urged him into the nearby alley and lowered her voice.
“I believe, after fleeing the robbers, and witnessing my altercation, she feared the worst, especially when I did not return the following day. However, as she could not in good conscience reveal my true identity in order to seek assistance, lest she inform the world that Lady Annabelle Montrose had traveled here and then spent the night without the benefit of a chaperone, she set off for home while absconding with the tickets I had previously purchased.”
“Good God,” he muttered.
“So you see,” she said, resuming a normal octave, “you shall have to escort me to London after all.”
He had to hand it to her. She did not give up easily. “Madam, I do not see what one has to do with the other.”
Her eyes sparked with indignation. “As you are an intelligent man, I find that hard to believe, sir. You cannot possibly expect me to travel across the country alone.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it with a snap. She was right, of course. Partially.
“Be that as it may,” he began carefully, “It’s hardly a more socially acceptable alternative for you to travel across the country with an unmarried man. Indeed, that is a recipe for scandal—for both of us.” As was everything which had occurred over the past two days.
Given the circumstances, his level of equanimity was laudable, if he did say so himself.
Her fair brows snapped together as understanding dawned in her eyes. Eyes the color of a clear morning sky, or the tranquil blue of an ocean cove on a windless day. He’d never seen such a shade of blue in a person’s eyes.
“You are right, of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed, wary now. Why had she agreed with him?
Lady Annabelle was a determined little thing—and too smart for her own good. Combine those factors with her obvious lack of impulse control, and he could all but smell disaster brewing.
“I shall have to send for help. A discreet, more reliable chaperone will need to be dispatched here.”
“An excellent notion. Meanwhile, I advise you to lay low, keep to your guest chamber, and in several days—”
“I think not, my lord,” she interrupted with obvious affront. “I will not make myself a virtual prisoner in a country inn in a land where armed ruffians roam the streets, nor do I intend to invite irreparable scandal on myself, sir.”
He glared at her, because, for once, she spoke sense.
She lifted her chin. “What if Lady Caroline were in my position?”
“My sister would never find herself in your position.” He’d taught her better than that.
“But if she did, through no fault of her own,” she pressed. If she heard his snort of incredulity, she hid it well, adding, “And if someone was in a position to offer aid, you would expect him to offer it, would you not?”
He clenched his jaw as the snare she’d set for him closed.
“I would,” he all but growled, annoyed, though whether with her or himself, who could say?
Because part of him, a very particular part of him, was not at all sorry to learn he was stuck with her for the foreseeable future, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise.
She sent him a sunny, too-satisfied smile. “That’s settled, then. I shall return to the castle with you and await my chaperone there. Now, kindly escort me to the telegraph office, Lord Randall.” Her glowing smile dimmed slightly as some new problem evidently presented itself to her.
“What now?” he demanded.
She cleared her throat. “I haven’t any funds.”
“In other words, I’m to pay for the message you wish to send?”
Rebounding from her momentary discomfiture, she batted her lashes at him, in an unabashed, sarcastic show of faux innocence. “Unless you have a better idea of how to get rid of me in a timely, chivalrous, manner?”
He didn’t know which he wanted more—to laugh, or groan, or drag her close and kiss her until she was every bit as off-kilter as he was.
Liar.
“Let’s go,” he said, praying he had the self-control to survive her brand of temptation for as long as required.