“Not all. As your stepfather’s estate is in Devonshire, I am to understand Miss Finch-Freeworth’s home, Brennon Manor, is in the North and that you have recently left there,” he said without even a pause, which she liked. The night he’d rescued her at Savege Park he had also understood the entire situation with very little explanation.
“I departed quite early this morning.”
“And what—” He paused. “Miss Lucas, pray forgive me for continuing to press you for details.”
“Of course. Whyever not?”
He smiled slightly, the barest hint of amusement tilting up his mouth at one side. On the three occasions that he had visited Savege Park, her stepsister Serena’s home, Diantha had seen him smile like that at her other stepsister, Viola, as well as at a veritable goddess, Lady Constance Read, a Scottish heiress with whom he seemed to be particular friends. But never at her, not even when he rescued her that night. Now that smile did strange things to her insides, somewhat pleasant and a bit alarming. Warm things.
“As I can imagine your stepfather would under normal circumstances send his carriage for you, what did he and Miss Finch-Freeworth’s parents have to say of your journey undertaken by public coach?”
“Oh, they proved no hindrance. My stepfather does not know. As for Teresa’s parents, Lady Finch-Freeworth is a soft woman without backbone and Sir Terrence couldn’t care less what the females in his house do. I don’t think he’s ever noticed me, in fact.”
His eyes took on a warm light that made her throat oddly tight. “I admit myself skeptical of that.”
“But it’s true. When we produced the letter from my stepfather, neither he nor Lady Finch-Freeworth blinked an eyelash. I did remarkably good work forging my stepfather’s signature. I have a particular talent with a pen and wax, so it was quite satisfying, really.”
“I daresay.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Brandy. What, then, is your direction, Miss Lucas?”
“I’ve never seen a gentleman drink so much brandy in so few minutes, not since my father died. But my stepfather rarely drinks spirits and of course I don’t know many other gentlemen, except my sisters’ husbands and I suppose the curate, and naturally Mr. H. But that will change after I find my mother, go to town next month, and am introduced into society.”
He set down his glass and said nothing but only looked at her with those silver eyes, carefully, it seemed. She felt studied, but not harshly. She felt looked at. Truly looked at. Not for her spots and fat, which she had sported in profusion until eighteen months ago, and not for her eyes, which her mother had insisted were her only fine feature. Mr. Yale seemed to look at something else. Her insides.
He finally said, “Who is Mr. H?”
“My future. At least that is the plan.”
“I see. Then you are attempting to escape a betrothal?”
“Not at all. I will be as glad to end up with Mr. H as anybody. Or, well, perhaps not anybody. But you must know what I mean.”
His slight smile came again, followed by the warmth in her midsection.
“Possibly,” he only said.
The door banged open and a boy called out, “Shrewsbury Coach boarding!”
“Oh!” Diantha swiped a napkin across her mouth. “We should hurry, Mr. Yale. You must retrieve your hor—”
“Miss Lucas, do remain and finish your dinner.” He did not move.
“But the coach is leaving.” She stood. “There isn’t time to—”
He rose to his feet and there was something shockingly intimate in the glimmer of his eyes as he looked down at her that rooted the soles of her practical traveling boots to the floor. He spoke quietly.
“Miss Lucas, it is not advisable for a lady to travel by night on a public coach, with or without escort.” His stance was so purposeful now, entirely unlike the unobtrusive man on the coach. She felt his command of the situation very oddly inside her, as she had felt his studying gaze.
“By which you mean Mr. Sausage Fingers may pose a threat to me.”
“By which I mean that if you are wise you will not board another coach until the morning and instead enjoy a comfortable night’s sleep here at this respectable inn.”
She seemed to consider this, her brow furrowing delicately. Once more her gaze flickered up and down him, as a man might inspect a horse for purchase, and her berry lips twisted in that partial purse which was not unbecoming—rather the opposite, enhancing the bow and puffing out her lower lip.
“You cannot convince me that you would be unable to best him in a fight.” She glanced at his shoulders, then his hands.
“The question is not whether I would be able to, Miss Lucas, but whether I would wish to place myself in the position of being required to.”
“I see.” Her gaze seemed fixed on his right hand, and a slight flush rose in her cheeks. “What have you done with your gloves, Mr. Yale?”
“I was obliged to discard them earlier today.” A hedonist at the party had stubbed a burning cheroot into the palm of one of the gloves. Wyn particularly disliked that stain. “Will you sit?” He gestured to her dinner.
“I suppose I am tired and would appreciate a rest.” Her brow unpleated and she turned her blue eyes upon him. “Will we hire rooms, then? I have never done so myself.”
“It will be my greatest honor.” He bowed.
She smiled, the dimples dipping her cheeks anew. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! My luggage!”
“I have taken the liberty of having it moved to a private chamber for you already.”
“When you went out?” She blinked. “I may forgive you for not asking my permission to do so. Eventually. But I think you must have some experience traveling.”
“Some.” On several continents.
“So I will trust you about the folly of taking the coach at night.” Her look grew sober. “But I do wish to get on with my quest as swiftly as possible.” She sat, waited for him to do the same, and took up her fork again. “I haven’t much time. I was only expected to be at Brennon Manor for four weeks, and two are already used up.”
“Quest? Then, no scorned suitor to be avoided?”
She screwed up her brows, a look that suggested his question had lowered her opinion of his intelligence. “I already told you I am not running away from anybody. Rather, toward.”
“Toward whom?”
“My mother.” She peered at him closely. “Do you know about my mother?”
“Only that she does not reside in your stepfather’s home and is no longer in society.” And that she’d had something shadowy to do with a treasonous lord’s hasty exile to the Continent years earlier. But that had been Leam’s business, and at the time Wyn had his own demons to battle and little time to pursue his friends’ interests.
Miss Lucas swallowed a mouthful of roast, her throat working above the unexceptionably modest neckline of her gown. It was a movement so mundane yet so enticingly feminine that he removed his attention from the sight to the bottle by his hand. The jittering thirst in his blood had relaxed with the first glass and disappeared entirely with the second. He poured a third. He never resorted to carrying a flask, but the last hour of the coach’s swaying and rocking had driven his edginess unendurably high.
“She left four years ago, mere days before my fifteenth birthday.” She took a sip of tea. “It had something to do with my elder sisters and my brother, Tracy, but I don’t know precisely what, and everybody was glad to have her gone. She was not a nice person, if you will take my word for it.”