by Tuft, Karen
The gentlemen, eager to make their mark in London society, were frequently part of Lord Cosgrove’s usual entourage. Lavinia had often seen them in the boxes of the theatre and outside her dressing-room door after performances. Why they were here, on the very outskirts of London, and not at one of their more usual haunts, was most likely a coincidence—but a worse coincidence she couldn’t have imagined.
The night needed only this.
She had to avoid being seen by them. If they recognized her, word would make its way back to Drury Lane and Alfred Hinchcliffe and Lord Cosgrove and all the others. It was not vain of her to imagine she would be pursued by at least some of them, most notably Cosgrove—she’d deliberately created the character of Ruby to be intriguing and desirable to the opposite sex, and with demonstrable success.
She would not give up on her dream, not after all she’d done tonight to have it. She would not. She must leave the White Horse immediately. Hannah, Delia, and Artie were obviously not here, so there was no use staying anyway.
Oh, but she was tired and hungry.
In her tiredness, however, she waited a fraction too long to act. One of Cosgrove’s minions looked up from his cards and spotted her. He half stood in recognition and opened his mouth. “I say—” he began.
There was nothing for it.
“Husband!” she exclaimed, hurrying across the room to the tall man sitting alone in the corner. She threw her arms about his broad shoulders and tucked her head next to his on the side facing away from the rest of the room. “Here you are!”
Chapter 3
What the devil?
One minute, Lucas had been nursing his ale and staring at Isobel’s crumpled letter on the table, and the very next, a gray bundle of femininity had fallen into his lap and called him husband.
He instinctively rose to his feet. Since the lady’s arms were securely around his neck, she invariably came with him.
“Please,” she whispered in his ear when he moved to set her on the floor—his head being drawn down to her height by the arms she’d slung around his neck. “Go along with my ruse.”
Well, then!
He’d been perfectly content procrastinating his inevitable trek upstairs to his room, aware that in the morning he’d have no excuse but to get on his horse and be on his way to Alderwood. Had he not procrastinated, he wouldn’t now be forced to deal with this . . . well, this unaccountable surprise, for lack of a better term.
“Er, you found me . . . my dear,” he stammered aloud for the benefit of anyone who might be paying attention to them. “What is it you wish me to do?” he asked her in a whisper.
The lady seemed reluctant to show her face to anyone. Lucas had hardly caught a glimpse of it himself. She was still pressed tightly to him, her head tucked in close so the brim of her bonnet hid her face from the room. “I wish to retire, husband, after a long day’s journey, if you don’t mind,” she said, not exactly answering the question he’d asked. Then she added, her voice again in a whisper, “Appear to be a normal husband, and get me out of here. Please.”
“Very well, ma’am.”
With his simple reassurance, she gradually lowered her arms to her side, keeping her head down, and turned away from the room. Lucas reached for his hat and scooped up the crumpled letter, then offered his arm to his mysterious “wife” and proceeded to escort her from the public room—whereto after that he wasn’t entirely sure. But just as they were passing the group of young dandies Lucas had observed drinking and playing cards earlier, one of them came to his feet. “I tell you, it’s her,” the man exclaimed, pointing. “It’s that—”
“If you don’t mind.” Lucas directed his words to the dandy in a tone he’d learned from his best friend, the Earl of Halford. The woman’s hand had gripped Lucas’s arm tightly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re up to, but I won’t have you disturbing my wife in such a manner.” He glared at the man, who was a good foot shorter than Lucas, making him shrink back into his seat.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” the fellow mumbled. “I was mistaken.”
“Come, my dear,” Lucas said and led her from the room, sensing that all eyes were on the two of them. He was curious to know what the fellow had planned to say, but he’d assured the lady of his assistance, and he was a gentleman who would not go back on his word, so he played his part.
They continued on together, up the stairs and down the corridor toward his room. She still held his arm in a death grip.
Unfortunately, her impulsive move had created a dilemma for them both. Lucas didn’t need a damsel in distress. He needed to figure out what he intended to do with the remainder of his life. He needed to reconcile himself to the uncomfortable situations in which he would find himself once he returned home. And while he had wanted to delay his return, he hadn’t wanted a reason quite of this magnitude. He unlocked the door to his room and opened it wide.
“After you, wife,” he said, gesturing theatrically for her to enter.
She glanced up at him from behind the brim of her bonnet and went inside without an argument. After he closed the door, she turned toward him, her face lowered. Why the devil was this woman so intent on hiding her face? “I suppose I owe you an explanation,” she said.
“That would be helpful,” he said with no little sarcasm.
She sighed and untied the ribbons of her bonnet and then removed it from her head. Underneath it, she wore a large lacy cap, so Lucas still had no idea what she looked like.
“May I have a glass of water first?” she asked.
“Certainly.” He strode to the washstand that sat against the far wall and poured water from the pitcher there into a glass, then brought it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, her face still lowered.
She took the glass and wandered away from him, toward the window that overlooked the stables in the back. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that the men downstairs will pack up and leave anytime soon and I’ll be able to see them ride away on their horses if I were to peek out this window.”
“Undoubtedly,” Lucas said. They hadn’t seemed particularly inclined to move from their spot downstairs, even after Lucas’s public rebuke of their friend.
He waited until she’d drunk her fill. “Let’s begin with an introduction,” he said. “You are . . .”
“Lavinia, er, Fernley,” she replied. She paused briefly as though her name hadn’t come naturally to her lips. Suspicious, that.
“Miss Fernley, how do you do?” he said. “I am Lucas Jennings, obviously at your service, it would seem.”
“Yes,” she said. “And I thank you for it.”
She used her fingers to part the curtains and peeked out at the stable yard.
“See anyone?” he asked, already knowing the answer to his question.
“No.”
Who were the men in the public room? They’d looked like normal enough chaps to him, although he hadn’t really paid them much attention after deciding they were harmless. Yet Miss Fernley had wanted to be away from them—with him—as quickly as possible.
“So, Miss Fernley, it seems a bit of a paradox that you would rather run headlong toward a stranger than greet someone you know. Who is he? What is his name and his connection to you?” And why were you so shaken by it? he wanted to add.
She dropped the curtain. “I don’t know his name. I know him only as someone who is frequently in company with . . . a person of my acquaintance.”
“Does this person have a name?”
“I’d rather not say,” she said.
“You must do better than that, Miss Fernley. You just proclaimed me to be your husband in front of a crowd of strangers in a busy inn. At midnight, no less.”
“I am truly in your debt, Mr. Jennings.”
“That remains to be seen, Miss Fernley. Leaving the question of this acquaintance of yours aside for the moment, I would ask you: Why me? Of all the people in the room, why did you run to me?”
“I don’t k
now,” she said. “I noticed you when I entered the inn, sitting by yourself, and you looked trustworthy. And I had to act quickly.”
“Trustworthy,” he mused aloud. “You could see my halo glowing where my hat should have been.”
“You mock me, but yes,” she eventually answered. “You were the safest alternative at the time.” She parted the curtain and began looking out the window again.
Hmm.
Lucas hadn’t been described as safe by anyone for several years now. He was tall, and rather than having a lean build like many tall men, he was muscular and proportioned to his height. He’d used his size to intimidate a lot of people, mostly enlisted men from the lowest dregs of humanity, who’d bullied those who were weaker than they.
He decided to use his size to intimidate this woman now, test her assumption that he was indeed safe. He needed to find out what her story was and if she was genuinely in need of assistance or was trying to trick him in some way. He crossed the room until he stood next to her, nearly touching.
She merely turned her head slightly in his direction, aware he was making a strategic action but calling his bluff and otherwise making no attempt to move, which surprised him.
“Miss Fernley,” he said to her ugly lace cap since that was all he could see of her at this proximity. “You must give me more of an explanation than the fact that you are avoiding the unnamed acquaintances of an unnamed acquaintance if I am to assist you further. I have no desire to be embroiled in your troubles.”
Her stomach growled in reply.
He sighed heavily. “And, of course, you’re also hungry.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
Her face, what little he could see of it whenever she turned her head slightly, was sallow in color. If he was to guess her age based on his observations thus far, including the brief time his arms had been wrapped around her, he would place her near forty—a little worse for wear for that age, too, perhaps—and most likely a spinster well on the shelf.
Miss Fernley’s stomach growled again, contradicting her answer to him, and she placed a hand firmly on her midriff to stifle the sound.
He sighed again. “Stay here, Miss Fernley. I’m going to get you some food.”
“You don’t need—”
“I expect you to be here when I return,” he said, interrupting her. “I have several more questions I would like you to answer, but I would prefer you be fed and coherent when you do. I will warn you though—there is nothing here for you to steal, if that is your intent. My money is safely ensconced upon my person, and there is nothing in my saddlebag but a change of clothing.”
She gave no reply, so he left the room—his room, he reminded himself as he made his way downstairs—that he was most likely going to have to share with a female. A total stranger. His wife, as far as everyone in the inn was concerned.
He spotted the owner of the White Horse behind the bar, counting the day’s receipts. The man had shown Lucas to his room earlier and would know he had arrived alone, with no mention of a wife joining him later. Lucas would have to hope the man’s many years as an innkeeper had taught him discretion.
“My lady wife is hungry,” Lucas said with no other explanation, noting that the man Miss Fernley had specifically wished to avoid was still in the public room, drinking and gaming with his friends. “And have additional water and towels sent up as well, if you please.”
“Certainly, sir,” the man replied, a knowing look in his eye. “Right away.”
Lucas wandered toward the men, who were a little deeper in their cups than they’d been a few short minutes ago, and casually seated himself at a nearby table. He drew his mother’s letter from his pocket and pretended to read it so as not to appear to be eavesdropping on the men and their game. Lucas wanted more information if he was to determine the right approach to take with the new “Mrs. Jennings.”
After several minutes, however, it became apparent that they were merely a passel of spoiled, wealthy young cubs who undoubtedly spent their time in pursuit of pleasure and entertainment and little else. During the course of their conversation, they did mention a few of England’s elites, including Lucas’s good friend Anthony, Lord Halford, but it was done mostly by way of idle gossip. The one who’d seemed to recognize Miss Fernley earlier looked at him suspiciously, Lucas noted.
Lucas tipped his head at him in greeting, making the man scowl, but he returned his focus to the game, which he appeared to be losing.
Nothing helpful to be learned from this pathetic lot.
“Last call, gentlemen,” the innkeeper announced. “I’m locking up for the night.”
The young men held their glasses out to be refilled, and Lucas returned the letter to his pocket and proceeded back to his room, arriving just as two maids did, one carrying a tray of food and the other holding a pitcher of hot water with towels draped over her arm. When Lucas opened the door for them, he saw that Miss Fernley had seated herself in the upholstered chair by the fire and appeared to have fallen asleep.
He held his finger to his lips, and the maids quietly set down the food and water and left. The tray included a loaf of bread, some cheese, and two apples—not precisely a sumptuous feast but enough to curb hunger until morning.
He shut the door with a soft thud.
She jolted at the noise and sat up straight, raising a gloved hand to her face before turning to look at him.
“You’re back,” she said in a voice husky from sleep. She cleared her throat. “I was just wondering when you would . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the tray of food on the table near the door. “Oh. It appears I must have dozed.”
“Yes,” he said. He gestured toward the tray. “I suggest you eat. And then we are going to talk.”
She moved to sit at one of the two wooden chairs next to the table and tugged off her gloves, revealing a large ruby ring. He pointed at it. “It appears I’m a rather generous fellow, giving you such a lavish betrothal ring.”
“Not so generous,” she replied before slicing a bit of cheese for herself. “It’s paste.”
It was a saucy answer from someone in a vulnerable situation, and the ring’s appearance added another curious element to this already curious situation. “May I sit?” He gestured to the other wooden chair.
“Of course you can,” she said. “It’s your room.”
“I’m glad you remember that.” He adjusted the chair so it faced her rather than the table and then sat.
She ignored his actions, however, and, while still keeping her head down, tore a piece of bread from the loaf.
He reached over and tore off a piece of bread for himself, chewing and swallowing before speaking. “Your gentlemen acquaintances are still downstairs and don’t appear to be in any hurry to leave,” he said matter-of-factly. “So unless you plan on tying the bedsheets together and escaping through the window, it appears we are stuck here together, at least for the time being. Unless I simply invite you to leave.”
She stopped chewing. “You wouldn’t do that.”
Whether she was telling him or asking him, Lucas wasn’t sure, but he definitely had her attention. “That remains to be seen, ma’am, but certainly not before you have eaten and had your say.”
She nodded and helped herself to more of the cheese while Lucas pulled out his penknife and sliced up one of the apples.
“Apple?” he asked.
She took the slice he offered.
Her dress, he observed, was a shapeless gray sack that hid her physical attributes. Since Lucas had briefly held those attributes in his arms, he was aware that she was slender but not thin. She still wore her cloak—also gray. Her hair was entirely covered by the ghastly cap she wore, which was overlarge with a huge lace ruffle that also managed to conceal a good share of her face.
From what little of her face he could see, it seemed the sallowness of her skin was due to the use of face paint, which was odd. She had a straight nose and full lips, nothing out of the ordinary, he th
ought, just the sort of features one would find on many females. Her eyes remained hidden by the cap.
How he, of all the other people in the public dining room, ended up being the one shackled to this drab gray goose of a woman for the night he could not imagine. It might delay his return home, but beyond that, it was simply a bother.
Eventually, she sat back in her chair.
“Have you eaten enough?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said.
“In that case, you may proceed with your explanation.” He crossed his ankle over his knee and waited for her to speak.
* * *
“There is nothing untoward in what I am attempting, if that is what concerns you,” Lavinia began. “Nothing of a sinister nature, that is. I haven’t broken any laws, nor do I plan to.” Heavens, but Lucas Jennings was an extraordinarily large specimen of a man. She hadn’t realized how exceedingly tall and muscular he was when he’d been sitting, staring at a crumpled piece of paper downstairs. He’d seemed the safest choice to her then. Now it was taking all her acting ability to keep the unease she felt hidden from him. She didn’t know the man at all, she was in his private room, and he looked like he could break a small tree in half.
He looked in the direction of his saddlebag, which sat on the floor near a corner of the bed.
“I didn’t even peep inside your bag, Mr. Jennings.”
He turned back to her. “I will take your word on that particular point, ma’am, and yet I have other suspicions I would have addressed. The cosmetics on your face, for example.”
Her hands flew to her cheeks. When had he had a chance to notice? Their initial encounter in the dining room had caught him off his guard, she’d known it, and she’d been careful to keep her head down since then. Unless . . .
Her stomach dropped to the vicinity of her toes. What a reckless fool she’d been! She had no idea how long he’d been in the room before closing the door loudly enough to wake her. And yet he had acted the gentleman so far. “You watched me sleep,” she said. “Yet you didn’t touch me.”
