by Donna Hatch
lying on the ground next to the carriage.
He made a quick gesture and his companion picked it up. “Forgive me, miss; we have not made the introductions.”
Alarm coursed through her veins. She must not be found out! “Y-yes, well this has been a rather unusual day. Two strangers meeting under unconventional circumstances,” she laughed nervously, then cringed at the hysterical sound she made. “Let’s keep it mysterious and prolong the adventure, shall we?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Are you an adventurer?”
“I’ve always wanted to be. Now is my chance...although it hasn’t gone according to plan but then, since it’s an adventure; I suppose I should expect a few surprises.”
“Indeed.”
“So let us continue as friendly strangers, shall we?”
His eye glittered in merriment. “I see your point. We’d better not mar your grand opportunity with such common customs as names.”
“Exactly.” She glanced up at him, amazed that a fine gentleman would be willing to play along with her little charade. At last she’d met someone not so deeply entrenched with social customs that he couldn’t enjoy a little mystery.
“However, I can’t exactly call you ‘miss’ throughout the meal, can I?”
“Well, I suppose you could call me Marie.” Her middle name ought not be recognized.
“Marie,” he repeated with a smile. “Very mysterious, Marie with no last name. Perhaps I should be equally mysterious—you know, to further your grand adventure filled with mysterious strangers. My friends call me Will.”
Grateful she would not be required to give her full name, thus risking discovery, she ignored the breech in etiquette regarding calling a man—a stranger, no less—by his given name. After all, she had already broken a dozen rules of behavior, one more couldn’t matter. “Delighted to meet you, Will.”
As they entered the inn, the smells of bread and sausage greeted her, and her stomach rumbled in response. Hungry diners feasting upon their dinner filled the main room. No sign of the coachman. A serving girl noisily cleared a table, stacking dishes on a tray, and an innkeeper hurried to them while drying his hands on a towel.
Will led her to an empty table and gestured to the innkeeper. “Bring a plate for the Lady Marie.”
“At once, m’lord,” replied the innkeeper.
Abby sank into a chair, grateful to be off her unsteady legs and smiled at Will. “Lady Marie?”
“For all I know, you are a visiting foreign princess, but Princess Marie seemed a bit too fantastic so I settled for Lady Marie.” His lips curved into a charming smile. As if remembering his secretary, he nodded to the man. “Haws, inform the driver there will be a delay in our departure.”
Haws paused, his eyes widening, but quickly regained his composure. “Of course, my lord.” Haws set Abby’s valise on the floor next to her feet, inclined his head in a brief bow, and withdrew.
Will settled into a seat next to her, close enough that she could touch him if she were to reach out. “Are you certain you’re unharmed?”
“He didn’t hurt me. Only frightened me.” She realized she still clutched his handkerchief in her hands. She held it out with a look of apology.
He waved it off. “Keep it.”
She dropped it in her lap. With shaking hands, she removed her gloves, frowning at the sullied white kid leather, and pushed back her disheveled hair.
He looked her over carefully, his expression full of sympathy. “You look fatigued.”
“And rumpled, no doubt.” Truly, she must look a sight.
“Pray tell me; how long were you hiding in that storage compartment?”
A blush warmed her cheeks that this elegant gentleman had caught her in such a childish and scandalous act. What must he think of her?
“Since early this morning. I didn’t dare leave when we stopped at the last inn. And now I fear I’ve been rash. It was foolish of me to travel alone. It seemed wildly romantic at the time.” She glanced up to find him watching her with a direct gaze. There was something quiet and melancholy mixed with the kindness in his face. “Thank you for buying the driver’s silence. I do not wish to be found.”
“Is that why you stowed away?”
“Yes. I have the money, but I was afraid my movements would be traced if I purchased passage. Someone might have remembered me.” She opened her reticule and handed him the equivalent coins which he’d paid the driver. “Please allow me to repay you.”
Will held up his hand in refusal. “’Tis all part of the damsel-in-distress service.”
“Please. I do not wish to impose upon you more than I already have.”
“It would offend my sense of honor were I to take it.”
“I’m already deeply in your debt for your aid with the driver. If you hadn’t come when you did…” She stopped and concentrated on breathing lest she fall apart again.
Very gently, he asked, “Are you in danger?”
“No, merely....” she toyed with the rejected coins. “I fear you’ll think me a terrible coward, but I’m running from an unwanted marriage.”
His brows rose. “One that is about to take place, or already has?”
“Oh no! I’d never...” She lowered her lashes as another heated wave washed over her face. “A wedding about to take place.”
“I see.” He leaned back in his chair. “Is your betrothed so undesirable, then?”
The stark desperation that had driven her from home threatened to overwhelm her. “Terrible. He’s much older than I—nearly thirty.”
His brows rose and one corner of his lips turned up. “Not so old, I assure you. Yet that must seem old to you when you’re only, what?—sixteen? Seventeen?”
“Eighteen. But it gets worse—he’s grotesquely deformed. If it were only that, I’d honor my parents’ wishes, but he’s cruel. They say he beats his servants and keeps those who displease him imprisoned in his dungeon.”
His mouth curved in amusement. “Really? How gothic.”
“You think I’m making this up?”
“I find it hard to believe anyone could be as bad as all that.”
“I realize rumors are not always accurate, which is why I don’t believe what they say that every full moon his eyes turn blood-red like the devil or that he grows horns.”
“Very sensible of you.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“No, my lady,” he said gravely, but the corners of his eyes crinkled.
A plate of food arrived and she tucked into it. As she ate the savory sausage, potatoes and bread, and drank her hot tea, her spirits rose. Somehow, it would all work out. She would have her adventure and find a way to convince Father to call off the betrothal. Perhaps a season in London...
After a moment Will leaned forward. “So ’tis not his deformity that repulses you most, but his potential to harm you?”
“I admit his face does frighten me a bit, but I cannot bear marriage to a man I should always fear would strike or throw me in his dungeon.”
“It would be a terrible waste of space if a dungeon were not used on occasion, don’t you think?”
She looked up suddenly, but the sparkle of his eyes revealed his mirth. He wasn’t mocking her, he was playing again. The remaining tension coiled in her stomach dissolved. An unbidden smile worked itself to her mouth. “It could be used to store wine. The really cheap kind one serves unwanted guests.”
He chuckled. “Touché.” With laughter alight in his eyes, his handsome face looked even more striking. Then he sobered and his gaze drifted, unseeing, to the window. Very quietly he asked, “Is he more hideous than I?”
She froze with her fork midway to her mouth. Something so haunting, so sad, entered his voice that a lump rose to her throat. Then it struck her; he was lonely. If he thought himself hideous, it was probably because others had been cruel to him about his scar. She set down her fork and boldly reached out and traced the scar on his cheek, lightly, softly. He flinched but stilled un
der her touch.
“Am I hurting you, Will?” she whispered.
“No.” His eyes fixed on her face and he went utterly still.
“You are not hideous. You’re handsome and kind and gentle. Any lady would be fortunate, indeed, to have you.”
He stared in disbelief. “You truly don’t find me repulsive?”
“Absolutely not. And if I place my hand like this,” she cupped his face with her hand, “I cannot see your scar at all. Only your beautiful eyes.”
His eyes grew suspiciously shiny. He quickly closed them and placed his hand over hers where it still rested on his cheek. The warm contact sent a thrill of pleasure through her. Yes, she was being terribly, terribly forward, but then, this was a grand adventure with a mysterious gentleman who didn’t know her name. Somehow her anonymity emboldened her.
He drew a shuddering breath. “If one as lovely as you can look upon me, and touch me even, then perhaps I am not beyond hope.”
At that moment, with his warm skin under her hand and the vulnerability in his voice, she wanted nothing more than to somehow prove he was not beyond hope at all. A golden web of attraction and affection wrapped around them. At that moment, Abby would have given him anything he asked.
The serving girl dropped a glass, shattering the spell enfolding them.
“Forgive me.” Abby began to pull away, but his fingers tightened around her hand with an urgent grip as if it were the only barrier between joy and despair.
She held her breath. As a girl, she used to dream that her husband would cherish her, protect her, make her feel safe, and who would need her in return...a man like the gentleman
