Another lie, Vanessa thought, but then he didn’t know she’d overheard him remind Charley in the coach that they were being accepted as guests wherever they were going as a favor to the Prince Regent. And that wasn’t interesting? They were definitely hiding something, but then so was she.
The boy started passing her the food. There was a lot of it, and it was incredibly fancy food, too, fit for a king or at the very least a couple of noblemen, but she wasn’t complaining. There were several different cheeses, fruit she couldn’t name because she’d never seen it before, a pile of sandwiches, each tied with ribbons on all sides so the filling wouldn’t fall out, and pieces of roasted chicken, the skin so crisp it crackled when she bit into it.
Wherever this strange duo was from, she guessed the fancy food basket had come from the Prince Regent’s own kitchen. So without appearing too curious, she remarked, “Did one of you prepare this sumptuous feast?” Charley gave her such an incredulous look, she laughed. “Well, obviously I meant one of your chefs.”
“This is hardly sumptuous if you’re used to ten-course meals of the finest meats and sauces,” Charley said loftily. “English cuisine pales in comparison to the cuisine of—”
Monty cut in, “We get the point, boy. You miss your own chef. Next time bring him along. I’m sure he can produce wondrous meals over a campfire.”
Charley scrunched his lips at the mild rebuke, but a moment later he glanced at Vanessa and asked, “Are you English, boy?”
She found it incredible that a boy likely younger than herself was addressing her that way, but she merely replied, “Don’t I sound English?”
“I sound English, but I’m not,” he replied.
“Oh?”
Charley ducked his head, and she noticed why. Monty was giving him a very pointed look. So she amended, “Actually, you’ve got a bit of an accent.”
“So do you,” Monty remarked. “Scottish?”
She chuckled. “Just a tad by blood, but I’m English born and bred—mostly. I’ve just spent the last six years in Scotland, so I suppose I picked up a bit of the brogue.”
“What were you doing up there?” Monty asked casually.
“Visiting family,” she said before taking a large bite of her sandwich so she wouldn’t have to say anymore.
She would have liked to savor that amazing lunch, but Monty was staring at her again as she ate. It was starting to annoy her because she’d like to gaze at him but couldn’t if she’d end up meeting his fascinating green eyes. So she wolfed down the meal, then left their little picnic to give Snow some fruit while her companions finished eating.
But she was only there a moment before an arm slipped around her shoulders and Monty said in a conspiratorial tone, “We’re not going to mention it to my ward unless he guesses, but if you were intentionally trying to look like a boy, you probably should have padded your shoulders and mucked up your cheeks, wench.”
Vanessa growled low, turned, and slammed her fist into his gut. She ignored the pain spreading up her wrist from giving it all she had and hitting what felt like a wall. She was too satisfied by the whoosh of air she heard him exhale and seeing him half bent over.
For good measure she snarled, “What sort of daft idiot are you? Calling me a wench? Get some spectacles, you bloody sod!”
He straightened. “It’s not the first time I’ve been mistaken, and in fact I thought the same thing about my ward when I first saw his pretty face, but he offered to show me his manly credentials.”
“I knew I should’ve grabbed my pistol instead of clenching my fist. Wench! Some insults cannot be suffered. This is where we’ll be parting—”
“Hold on,” he said, and stopped her as she leapt up to mount Snow. The sensation of his hands on her waist startled her, but he removed them as soon as her feet were on the ground again. “I’ll apologize if I must, but surely I’m not the first to make that assumption—considering.”
“Considering what?” she growled.
“Your narrow shoulders and waist, your smooth ivory cheeks, which I caught a glimpse of, and that hood you obviously hide under. I suppose you’re too young to grow a beard, but at least do what I suggested and muck up your face with some dirt so you can take off that hood.”
“I’m not hiding. The hood protects me from the wind when I’m riding.”
“You aren’t riding now!” he replied, his tone turning jocular. “Well, if you’re just afraid of being recognized by someone we cross paths with, then by all means continue as you are, boy, and accept my profuse apology. I’m learning something about hiding m’self, so who am I to complain about other people’s behavior, eh? You’re still welcome to stay with us. There’s safety in numbers, and you know how to use those pistols you tote. And don’t forget you find me interesting.”
Was he joking now? “You and the boy!” she yelled after him.
She stared at Monty’s back as he returned to Charley to finish his lunch. He’d conceded she was a boy, hadn’t he? This was the first time on her journey anyone had challenged her about her sex. But until now she hadn’t met anyone she’d wanted to converse with at length or share a meal with. She suddenly realized it didn’t matter if Monty and his ward eventually figured out she was a female. Well, it was scandalous behavior to pass herself off as a boy, but they would never find out who she really was, and in a few days they would part ways and she’d never see them again.
She would still prefer to maintain her male persona because it made traveling so much easier. Besides, why should she volunteer any information about herself when they were concealing their own true identities? But she did concede that Monty had a point. She had to be more careful not to let anyone get a good look at her face, which clearly proclaimed her a female!
She looked at the grass and frowned as she bent down to sift through it until she reached some dirt. Then she quickly straightened and brushed off her hands, laughing. She wouldn’t go that far to convince anyone she was a boy. She’d put her scarf back on instead.
Chapter Eight
THEY REACHED THE FLYING Coach inn by dusk that night. Arlo had stopped briefly that afternoon in a small town and purchased a hooded cloak for Charley. It was a very plain brown woolen one but it covered his pretty golden locks and concealed his jeweled collar. The servant was also wearing one now. In solidarity with his master? Vanessa wondered. In any case, she felt better about wearing her hood inside the inn because with the three of them hooded she was much less conspicuous.
She had stayed at several of the inns operated by the Flying Coach company on her way south. Based in Manchester, Flying Coach had built numerous inns along the route to London to accommodate the passengers in their vehicles and to honor their claim of comfortably transporting their customers from Manchester to London in three and a half days. But one of those coaches had just passed through and dropped off a number of passengers for the night, leaving only two rooms available for anyone else.
Of course Monty took both of them, but Vanessa didn’t like it when she heard him tell Charley, “You and Arlo can share a room, Nestor will bunk with me in the other.”
“I thought you said your ward was never going to be out of your sight,” Vanessa reminded him.
“Charley and I discussed the matter in the coach. He expressed a strong preference for sharing a room with his longtime servant, and since I’ll be next door and the innkeeper confirmed the doors have locks, I decided to grant his wish—amends, as it were.”
“For?”
“If you’d heard his tirade about having to wear a woolen cloak and hood, you wouldn’t ask. The boy thinks wool belongs on sheep and nowhere else.”
She might have laughed, but for the second time that day she wondered if he still suspected she was a female and was testing her for a show of maidenly outrage. Earlier, when his coach had pulled over for a relief stop, he’d called to her, “Over here, Ness,” as if he expected her to join him and the boy as they faced the same tree.
She
had already intended to use a copse of trees, which she’d spotted before the coach stopped, so she said simply, “I’ll find my own tree, thank you.”
“Embarrassed by size?”
She was glad she’d read the anatomy book one of her tutors had given her and didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Yes, if you must know.”
“All right then!” he yelled, but he also laughed, confirming her initial impression that he was only teasing.
But sharing a room with her wasn’t a tease. Either he no longer suspected that she was female and saw nothing wrong with the arrangement—or just the opposite. In which case, he probably expected her to go back outside and sleep on Snow again instead of rooming with him for the night. Or maybe he was trying to force her to admit she was female and demand the room for herself. She did neither—yet.
Her heart raced with indecision. She knew it was scandalous to share a room with a man, but this man had no idea who she was. She decided to accept his dare—if that’s truly what it was. After all, she wasn’t sure if he still suspected she was female, so why give up her male identity before she had to? Besides, she was intrigued with him. Why couldn’t she have a little fun and observe him up close? She wouldn’t let anything truly improper happen.
“I’m going to go check on Snow to make sure he’s settled properly for the night,” she told her companions.
“Or hie off on him without a goodbye?”
With only a glance over her shoulder on the way out of the inn, she told Monty, “Not a’tall. If we’re eating, order me whatever you’re having, I’ll be only a few minutes.”
In the stable she saw that Snow had been unsaddled and his stall was full of hay. She wondered if she should just sleep on his back again. Logically, Monty should be sharing a room with Charley and she should be sharing one with Arlo. Were the current sleeping arrangements really Monty’s way of making amends to Charley?
“Ye’re with those people by choice?”
Vanessa started. She was amazed that such a giant man could move so silently. Barrel-chested, well over six feet tall, Donnan MacCabe stood beside her, arms crossed, his face expressionless. Donnan and his brother, Calum, were related to her great-grandfather, and therefore distantly to her.
“Yes, they’re traveling north, too, and I’ll likely be with them until I turn west toward my mother’s house.” And then recalling the crowded inn, she added, “There aren’t any more rooms available here for you and your brother.”
“Calum rode ahead tae get one for us,” he said, then warned, “If yer accosted on the road again, lass, we will intervene.”
“Suit yourself, just don’t tell my traveling companions that you’re with me.”
“Yer no longer alone, so why not?”
“Because I still don’t need guards to protect me, and I don’t want anyone to think I do.”
Donnan still didn’t look happy. “Yer father might think ye especially need tae be guarded when yer traveling with three male strangers.”
At the mention of her father, she relented. “We can say you’re my servants and we got separated, but you’ve caught up to me. But can you try to look a little less lethal?”
His laugh was a bass rumble. “If ye’ve an idea how, I’m listening.”
She tsked. “At least wait until midmorning tomorrow. I’m too tired to explain tonight.”
Returning to the inn, she found the odd pair sitting at one of the tables with Arlo, which was a surprise. Servants usually didn’t sit with their masters, but since Arlo had been with Charley since the day he was born, he was obviously more than a servant to the boy. And besides, there were only a few tables in the dining room, and all of them were occupied by other travelers.
“There wasn’t much to order,” Monty said as she sat down across from him. “Normal stew or stew with extra meat, and you look like you could use more muscle, so extra meat you shall have.”
She looked down at the large bowl in front of her and saw chunks of meat but no vegetables. Charley, who was seated next to her, had the same, so she said, “Yes, we boys are sadly lacking in those.”
Charley shoved his cloak to the side, lifted his arm, and flexed it. She was annoyed to see a slight bulge rise in his upper arm beneath his jacket, disproving her remark. But then he looked at her, obviously waiting for her to show off her muscles.
She snorted. “This isn’t a bloody competition.”
Charley laughed, apparently deciding he’d won. He was also drinking wine with the two men, and Monty picked up the bottle on the table to pour some in her empty glass. She quickly put her hand over it, shaking her head. He raised a brow, but she dropped her eyes to her bowl of stew. She wasn’t going to explain why she wanted all of her senses highly alert tonight and not befuddled, when it wasn’t something a boy would say.
She found the meat tender and the gravy tasty, and yet Charley, half-done with his meal, complained loudly in Monty’s direction, “This is horrible food.”
“George spoiled you, did he, with his lavish meals?” Monty rejoined.
“Who’s George?” she snuck in. If he meant the Prince Regent, she wished he would just say so.
Monty merely replied, “A friend.”
But Charley wasn’t done complaining. “I hope you will do better tomorrow, Monty.”
Vanessa saw other people in the dining room looking over at their table.
“Keep your voice down. The stew is hearty fare, does the bloody job of filling the stomach—and beggars can’t be—”
The gasp from Charley and the appalled expression on his face made Monty pause before he amended, albeit a little harshly, “We don’t get to be picky on the road, boy. Our hosts will no doubt offer finer fare at their table, but we aren’t there yet. So in the meantime, we suffer in silence and make do.”
“I—”
“Have said enough,” Monty cut in.
The boy still finished his thought in high indignation. “—should have brought my own chef.”
Vanessa had to choke back her laughter. Charley really was a spoiled child—a rich, spoiled child. And Monty didn’t appear to have any patience for his tantrums, even mild ones, or perhaps he didn’t like what Charley’s haughty manner and disdainful remarks had revealed to everyone in the dining room—that he was wealthy. It was a good thing the boy had taken off his jewelry. Thieves would come pouring out of every nook and cranny, not realizing they were fake gems.
Who the devil were these two? She wished she knew. Nobles, obviously, and high up the proverbial ladder if they knew the Prince Regent. And while she had thought they might be on a secret mission for the Prince, she was beginning to suspect they might be in danger instead. Why else were they traveling so modestly and concealing their identities?
They made quick work of finishing the meal, and soon the group of four was heading upstairs for the night. Vanessa began to feel a little nervous about sleeping in a room with Monty—or was it anticipation? But she could do this. They were only going to sleep, after all.
She hadn’t noticed Donnan entering the inn after she’d spoken to him, but when she reached the second floor she saw another staircase leading down to the back of the inn. She was glad that the brothers had a room nearby, not that she thought she’d need them, but she couldn’t deny she always went right to sleep when she knew they were close. For all her bravado about being able to defend herself—and she didn’t doubt she could—it was still comforting to know she didn’t really have to.
“Two blokes and the bed is big enough for two,” Monty noted as they entered the room where two lamps were already lit.
He was right, two blokes would indeed share the bed and think nothing of it. And it did look inviting—but she wasn’t getting in it.
“I snore,” she said.
“I’ll punch you if you do.”
She narrowed her eyes on his back as he went to the bedside table and unloaded the sack he was carrying. “You would, wouldn’t you?” she said churlishly.
“Don’t I owe you one, boy?”
“The hell you do. You’re lucky I didn’t challenge you to a duel for your insult today.”
“No, you’re lucky you didn’t,” he returned. “But by all means, suit yourself. You’re welcome to sleep on the floor.”
She swiped the quilt and one of the pillows off the bed, then tossed them against the wall on the other side of the room. When she looked back his way, she noticed that he’d put at least a half dozen pistols on the table.
“What are those for?” she asked.
He didn’t turn around as he said, “Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“An ax pounding at the door.”
She snorted. “If you don’t want to say, just tell me to mind my own business.”
“So why don’t you do that?”
Had she really found him interesting? He was a bloody rude gentleman, probably a lord, condescending, curt, quarrelsome when impatient. And then with his back still to her, he started to undress.
Her eyes got wider and wider as she watched him. He tossed his jacket aside, then his shirt. Made of such fine linen, it floated for a moment before it landed on the floor. But her eyes veered away from it, going right back to the wide expanse of sinewy brawn. She noticed a scar, round and dark like a bullet hole, on the upper left side of his back. Had he been shot in the back? Or had it gone straight through his chest? Obviously it had missed his heart, but not by much.
She wanted to ask him about the scar but didn’t want to own up to looking at him long enough to have noticed it. He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, then stood to remove his trousers, leaving only his short small clothes. Her eyes flared even wider and she choked back a soft gasp. That much bare skin was simply too much for her senses to experience all at once. Heat flushed up her cheeks, her belly fluttered, and she felt the oddest desire to touch him and feel those muscles ripple under her fingertips. Last summer in Fraserburgh she’d seen bare-chested Scotsmen lifting and throwing massive larch poles while competing at a Tossing the Caber event, but never before had she seen such a handsome man with such a magnificent body up close like this.
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