“No one is pointing a gun at me.”
“Only your conscience, I suspect, which is probably more noxious to you than any weapon. Anyway, the relevant fact is that I am already spoken for.”
They stood for a moment like that, silent, while it seemed she might speak again. But she did not.
“Then, pray allow me to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Her mouth popped open, providing him a glimpse of the temptation within. “But weren’t you trying to teach me a lesson?”
Good God. “No.”
“No? Then . . . ?”
He could say nothing. She did this to him, robbed him of words, and at the moment he was grateful for it.
“You needn’t apologize.” Her gaze darted away now, twisting the burning in Wyn’s belly. “You know, I think it would be better sometimes to be French. French people seem to toss off uncomfortable incidents without the slightest tickle of conscience.”
“Miss Lucas, I beg you will forgive—”
“Truly, it isn’t necessary.” Her fingers gripped the cord of her bandbox, stretching the leather over her knuckles.
“Please, allow me to—”
“I do not require—”
“Woman, let me apologize.”
Her gaze returned to him. “But you needn’t apologize. You did not intend—” She halted, then: “You were not at fault.”
He stared. “Forgive me for disagreeing, but you have a peculiar notion of suitable behavior for a gentleman.”
“I don’t, really. But while I do not understand the particulars of your acquaintance with Mr. Eads, it is clear to me that your encounter with him was not a simple matter, and I cannot blame you for drinking to excess last night.”
“You are too generous. Also misguided not to blame me for a great deal more than that.”
Her lips twisted up. “Well, then claim the blame if you must, but allow me a share of it too. I should not have encouraged you. But I have learned my lesson and I shan’t do that again.”
“You needn’t have concern. I will not harass you further.”
Her eyes seemed to retreat again. “You will not?”
“I will not.” He wanted to now. Even with his head aching and regret fierce, he wanted to take her body in his hands and enjoy what he hadn’t been clear-headed enough to enjoy when he’d had the opportunity. “I will not touch you again. Upon my honor.”
The graceful column of her throat constricted in a jerky swallow. “You said if I asked you again to kiss me that you would take me home. Do you intend to take me home now?”
He should. He must. “I recall no such request last night.”
The wide blue eyes lit again with hope. “You don’t?”
He shook his head. In fact he remembered only one thing with piercing clarity, the reason he had released her finally. And it had not been her halfhearted protests.
“I suppose that is for the best,” she said with a wrinkle of her brow. “If you tried to take me home, I would be obliged to escape you again.”
“You would not succeed.”
She took a decisive breath. “We have had this debate before. I think we must agree to disagree. In any case, the point is moot.” A twinkle lit her eyes. “Presently.” Her spirit was irrepressible.
“Miss Lucas.”
“Yes?”
His chest felt tight, his heartbeats fast. “Forgive me.”
“If you can forgive yourself, we shall call it even.” The corner of her lips twitched. “Again.”
Mrs. Polley emerged from the inn. “Rain and more rain. We’ll be soaked through.” She bustled forth, traveling bag clutched in round fingers.
“Oh, not at all.” Miss Lucas flashed her an encouraging smile. “The carriage has a—” Her gaze shifted and her face brightened. “Isn’t this a coincidence? We know that boy.” She moved toward the lad holding Galahad’s lead. “Hello. Do you remember me? We shared a coach a few days ago, the Mail from Manchester. This gentleman was sitting beside you that afternoon. Was this your destination?”
The lad snatched off his cap, cheeks reddening in round spots beneath a layer of soot. “G’day, miss. No, it weren’t.” His English sufficed, but it came forth from a tongue accustomed to the tones of the Celts. His fingers, stained black, proclaimed him a mine worker.
“It was not my destination either. Or this gentleman’s.” She chuckled. “But here we all are. And how nice it is to see a familiar face upon a strange road.”
The boy’s blush brightened.
“Where are you headed now, then? If you are going our way, you might travel with us rather than by coach. We have ever so much space in our carriage.”
The lad’s face fell into shock. Mrs. Polley beamed.
“Well, there, miss,” the lad stuttered. “I can’t be doing that, not with my grubs, not in a lady’s carriage. But if you’d be having any work for me, well then I’d be much obliged, as I’ve run though my last coin two days ago.”
“Two days? But how have you eaten since then?”
“The baker threw me the heel of an old loaf this morning.” His teeth showed in a skin-and-bones grimace. Like most mining boys, he was light of flesh.
Brows perked high, she turned to Wyn. “Well, I am certain we have a task or two he can perform, haven’t we?”
The boy’s dark eyes were hesitantly hopeful now.
Wyn spoke to him in Welsh. “From what are you running, lad?”
“Why do you think I’m running away from somewhat, sir?”
“Because I was once there myself.”
The lad seemed to consider a moment. “I was down at Cyfarthfa with my sister till fever took her. Went up to Uncle’s in Manchester with my last coin, but he sent me back on the Mail.”
The iron mines on the other side of the Black Mountains had killed the boy’s sister—taken by disease no doubt—yet his uncle had insisted he return there. A common enough story, even for children younger than this one.
“I couldn’t go back, sir.” His brow was small beneath a thatch of black hair, but fixed. “Sold my seat on the Mail for a strip of jerky.”
“Can you tend horses, lad?”
“Yes, sir. My brother works the pulleys at Merthyr Tydfil. I helped him with the animals there before my sister came on and we hired at Cyfarthfa.”
“I will pay you in coin for your labor, and you will be fed.” He turned to Miss Lucas and said in English, “He will come.”
Her face lit into a smile. “Splendid. What is your name?”
“Owen, miss.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Owen.”
Wyn watched the lad squirm, unaccustomed to pretty ladies paying him attention, no doubt. But he could prove useful later in the day. Although he gazed at Miss Lucas with the instant devotion she drew from most she encountered, the boy would not gainsay a fellow countryman. Welshmen were a loyal band. Her generosity, Wyn knew, would serve him well.
He gestured for Owen to take the luggage and turned toward the stable. He paused.
“Oh, good heavens,” she whispered at his shoulder.
“Good heavens, indeed,” he replied quietly, the rain on the cobbles beyond the archway muting their voices.
“That is the Misses Blevinses’ groom, isn’t it?”
“It is.” The old coachman stood in the shadow of the carriage house, stroking the neck of one of Sir Henry’s horses. A thoughtful frown crumpled his wrinkles.
“What an unfortunate coincidence.” She bit her lip. “He has recognized the carriage.”
“It seems so.”
“If he is here, the Misses Blevinses must be too.”
“Have you still got your valuables in that bandbox?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Go inside now. Take Mrs. Polley with you.”
“And then?”
“I will come for you in three minutes. Three. Be ready to depart swiftly.”