Careful to avoid the shards of glass, she crawled across his coat to the door, peeked out, and met Mr. Waverly’s gaze. “At least it’s no longer raining.”
“There is that,” he responded grimly, and then he added, “No one is injured, but the horses have bolted.”
“What should we do?” He’d have already developed a plan. He was an efficient, take charge sort of man.
He offered his hand and practically pulled her the rest of the way out the door. “Not sure how safe it is right here. More of the mud could come down at any moment. Best we find a way back up to the road.” Wincing, he jerked his head towards a steep incline.
“Dear heavens? Did we come down that?” The sliding grooves and crushed greenery created by the carriage revealed how lucky they were to have emerged unscathed. She could barely see the top, where the road must be.
If it still existed.
“It’s not as steep this way, Waverly.” The driver was already scampering out of harm’s way.
“My valise!” At least her trunks were on the luggage carriage, safely parked back in London. “And my hat.”
She shouldn’t bother herself with such trifles, but… a lady required certain accoutrements.
Pausing only the barest of seconds, Mr. Waverly dropped to his knees once again, and partially disappeared back into the carriage, allowing her another accidental glimpse of his fine—
“Anything else?” He’d backed up warily, in order to avoid the glass shards, no doubt. He’d retrieved her valise as well as her now crushed, velvet hat. He’d also recovered his great coat. Yes, that might come in handy at some point.
“No, that’s everything.” She took the handle of her small case and did her best to return her hat to its former shape before placing it upon her head.
Now. To find their way back to the road, the driver already having disappeared.
Standing, Mr. Waverly sent a somewhat puzzled glance in her direction. “Take my hand and have a care, the hill is slippery.”
For an independent lady, she most certainly was relying a great deal on her man of business. If only she could strike her early bout of weeping from his memory forever.
Warmth flooded her cheeks as he wrapped his fingers around hers.
“I’m sorry about earlier.” She didn’t wish to remind him of her weakness, but mortification forced the words past her lips. “I hope you’ll accept my apology. It’s not like me at all. I’m normally quite…”
“No need.” He gave her a not so gentle tug. “We really shouldn’t dawdle here.”
“Of course.” She managed a few steps before realizing something dreadful had happened. “Wait!”
What in the world? “The mud has eaten my slippers!” They were nowhere in sight. But they had been on her feet initially and she now stood in the mud, wearing only her stockings.
“It ate your slippers? Are you certain?”
“Mr. Waverly.” She lifted one foot. “I’d hardly say so if I was not. Well, perhaps it didn’t eat them, but it has consumed them.”
For the very first time since becoming acquainted, Mr. Waverly seemed slightly amused by her.
She feigned annoyance with him.
She hoped this business relationship that had worked so well in the past endured this journey.
“Do you have anything serviceable in there?” He pointed toward her valise.
Oh, yes! “My half boots!” Except mud surrounded her completely and the stockings on her feet were soaked through and through. If she could manage to change into her other pair of stockings…
Mr. Waverly surprised her then, by dropping to one knee. What in the world?
“Sit on my leg, Mrs. Mossant. In order to don your other shoes.”
She paused only a moment. “That is very… gentlemanly of you. But would you mind closing your eyes?”
“Close my eyes? I do assure you that I’ve seen ladies’ feet before.”
“I intend on changing my stockings, if you don’t mind.”
“You—” He stopped himself. “Do hurry, though, we don’t want—”
“I know, I know. We need to get out of here. But I can hardly walk with mud in my boots and I can hardly remove my stockings with you looking on.”
A glimmer of a smile danced wickedly across his lips.
“Really, Mr. Waverly, I would imagine you might be more understanding.”
She lowered herself gingerly onto the seat he’d created for her and reached beneath her skirts.
“These were one of my favorite pairs,” she mumbled more to herself than to him.
CHAPTER FOUR
And More Mud
Niles steadied Mrs. Mossant as she shifted and squirmed, her bum balanced precariously on his thigh. He tried not to imagine her hands skimming the length of her leg, touching feathery skin, in order to unfasten her garters.
Instead, he kept one hand at her back and the other ready to right them, lest her manipulations toppled them both over.
He dared not conceive the pain that might invoke. While tumbling down the hill, he must have slammed into something hard, bruising a rib.
Or two.
Or a perhaps all of them.
“There’s one,” she declared, taking his mind off the sharp pain in his left side. This time he allowed his mind to envision her sliding the hose down the length of her leg and off her foot. Sounds of the valise opening and her rummaging about kept him informed of her progress. Along with her nervous narrative.
“These are much more practical. Wool. My mother made them for me ages ago, and they’ve held up quite well. I brought them along so I could walk about the estate after we arrive. It’s been a while, and I doubt Jean Luc has made time to visit any of his tenants.”
And then, by her wiggling, he surmised she had her hand beneath her skirts again.
Focus on the mud beneath your knee, man. Even the pain in your ribs. Devise the next steps required to extract your client from this quagmire.
Yes. Client. Mrs. Eve Mossant was nothing more than another client.
He needed to get her up this hill and to the nearest inn as quickly as possible. Considering the damage the carriage had taken, he doubted it could be repaired easily, if at all.
Damn but he ought to have considered road conditions more than the desperate look in her eyes when deciding to travel in the wake of this morning’s storm. He’d made a foolish decision and nearly gotten them all killed.
He inhaled deeply at his thoughts and winced. He didn’t mind the inconvenience so much for himself, but he had a lady to protect.
Her hand landed on his shoulder, and she pushed herself off his leg. “There. Much better. You may open your eyes now.”
She looked quite satisfied with herself.
He’d done well enough fighting his attraction to her, in the past. He would continue to do so, regardless of her changed circumstances.
And he’d not find her straddling him again anytime soon. He’d gone without bedding a woman for far too long. He oughtn’t to have been so aroused. For God’s sake, they’d just rolled down the side of a cliff.
“I think John went this way.” He cleared his throat and gestured for her to walk in front of him. If she lost her footing, he could keep her from falling.
Nothing untoward about the gesture. He’d do this for any client.
Squish. Squish. Squish.
Progress was painstaking and slow, but his respect for her only grew. If she had any complaints, she kept them to herself. And although she surely was experiencing a good deal of fatigue, she continued plodding right along. Until…
“Oh! Oh!” Both of her feet, planted on the ground, nonetheless, were sliding backwards. Her arms grasped at some nearby branches to no avail, sending her plowing into Niles’ arms.
As luck would have it, he’d braced himself against a rather large boulder.
A soft bum pressed against him first, followed by rounded feminine curves. He caught her around the waist, just below her b
reasts, and tugged upward so that her feet didn’t slither out from under her. He hissed in pain when her elbow jammed into his side.
“Oh, Mr. Waverly!” He’d expect a fit of vapors from most ladies of his acquaintance but was to be surprised by her once again.
She responded with laughter.
Bent over, unable to breathe, uncontrollable laughter.
“I’m sorry.” She barely managed the words. “It’s just that…” More laughter. “Why had I thought this would be easy? Anything having to do with my husband was never simple.”
Her dead husband.
A carriage accident.
And yet a few unchecked chuckles escaped his throat. She could barely hold herself upright and tears had begun streaming down her face.
“Oh, don’t laugh. I’ll never be able to stop.” Her laughter went unchecked for a full minute before she was able to successfully bring her laughter under control. By then she had turned around in his arms and was wiping at her eyes, leaving some rather pronounced muddy streaks in the process.
He didn’t think to stop himself from grinning at her.
Hanging onto his shoulders, she suddenly stilled. “What?” A wide smile filled her face. “I’ve not gone mad. I promise you. Despite.” She used one hand to indicate her dress, her shoes and her face. “I imagine I can either laugh or cry. And as you well know, I’ve already given in to the latter…”
Niles couldn’t help but study her warm, laughing gaze.
So full of life. This woman.
“I much prefer this,” he allowed himself. He’d been happy to comfort her but hated that she was experiencing such turmoil. Yes. He’d always prefer laugher.
He swallowed hard, suddenly uncomfortable at such intimacy. Her face, tilted up, and her hands clutching him, left a scant few inches between their lips.
When was the last time he’d kissed a woman? Not out of lust, nor convenience, but because he wanted to?
Since curtailing his work for Findlay a few years back, he’d lived an almost celibate existence. While traveling… not so much.
But he’d avoided romantic entanglements.
“Hello there! Mr. Waverly.” A shout from above had Mrs. Mossant dropping her arms and turning around. “I’d like to go after the horses, if you don’t mind?” John was obviously becoming impatient waiting for them.
Niles turned various scenarios around in his brain before answering. “Meet us at The Goat and Pig. Mrs. Mossant and I will make our way there on foot!” Unless another respectable vehicle came along.
And if it could remain on the muddied road.
He’d traveled this route before. The Goat and Pig didn’t offer luxurious accommodations per se, but it would provide a safe haven for his client until other arrangements could be made for her travel. He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it.
Blast and damn this mud.
“We’ve passed the midway point, I believe.” This to encourage her. “Try to step on the larger rocks. You’re less likely to slide that way.”
Without looking back again, she straightened her shoulders and took a few tentative steps in the direction she’d just slid down. This time, he grasped her waist from behind. Somewhere along the climb, they’d lost her valise. He hoped she hadn’t been carrying anything valuable. He supposed he could send someone back for it, if necessary
The going was slower now, as the top half of the climb dropped steeper than below, but they made steady progress.
Her feet slid a few more times, and her knees buckled once, but she kept moving without complaint. By the time they arrived at the road again, her face was flushed. Beneath her silly hat, damp tendrils of hair clung to her forehead and the sides of her face.
She swept the hat off her head and glanced between the two of them. “That was quite stimulating.” Illuminated by sunlight, for the first time, he noticed a few strands of silver hidden in her coiffure. Tiny lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes as she stared off into the valley below.
And then the glow of the sun disappeared, and with it the silver glints and harsh illumination.
A dark and threatening looking cloud moved visibly across the sky.
“I don’t trust this road. Are you able to continue toward the inn?” Although no longer as vigorous as he’d been as a younger man, he had retained his stamina by practicing the ancient arts.
She would be quite fatigued by now, despite the satisfaction she’d derived from their climb.
She grimaced. “I’m sorry, again, for all this.” She turned to walk, but in the wrong direction.
“Do you plan on hiking back to London, then?” His words halted her.
“Oh. Of course not.”
Niles gestured for her to go ahead of him, but then reconsidered and took hold of her arm. “This way to The Goat and Pig.”
“They’ll take one look at us and surmise the establishment was named for the two of us.”
Niles chuckled.
A woman who maintained her sense of humor under such circumstances was rare indeed.
What a disaster of a predicament this was!
Eve matched her steps to Mr. Waverly’s. She wasn’t a petite woman, but even so, she surmised he’d shortened his stride so that she wouldn’t struggle to maintain their pace.
“How far is this Goat and Pig establishment?” she dared to ask. Perhaps they ought to have marched toward London. If they were lucky, some passersby might take pity on them and take them up. She’d abandoned her belongings when changing her footwear, leaving her with nothing respectable or even clean to change into.
All she had was her traveling dress, a light wrap she’d donned earlier that day, and her hat — and even that was ruined.
Mr. Waverly squinted into the distance. “I’d hazard to say five miles? Difficult to say as it’s been a while.”
Five miles? She stifled a groan.
What would she tell her daughters if they were in her situation? To be grateful they’d come out of the mishap uninjured? To dwell on something other than the crick in her side or the blister on her left heel.
Chin up, Eve.
“Does your work require you travel often, then? Your other clients?” She’d keep her mind preoccupied by learning something about her dedicated man of business.
“Not as much as in the past, but oftentimes Findlay has me look in on the factories. Most of those are up north.” She, herself, had met Niles through Thomas Findlay, father to Rhoda’s friend, Cecily. The man’s success in commerce was quite legendary.
“How did you meet Mr. Findlay?”
“He gave me my first job.” This might prove interesting after all. She knew very little about employment of the merchant class.
“As his secretary?”
Niles chuckled and then winced. “I suppose my duties fell more under the title of… security.”
Fascinating.
“You were one of his brutes? A ruffian?” Common knowledge provided that Mr. Findlay did not achieve all of his objectives by following established practices. She turned her head so that she might study Niles Waverly more closely.
“For a few years.”
This would explain the less than perfect line of his nose. And his very solid presence. Even tumbling down a cliff, she hadn’t experienced fear.
He’d protected her with his own body. She hadn’t considered it at the time, but that was why she’d been entangled with his person when they’d landed.
“What did you do after that?” He’d piqued her curiosity for certain.
His jaw clenched, and she wondered if he resented her prying.
“I became something of a manager.”
“You managed all the other brutes?”
“Among other things.”
“Is that why you never married, then? Because you were constantly putting yourself in danger?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. And the travel.”
Walking side by side with him, she couldn’t help herself but to study
Mr. Waverly again. “Did you grow up in London?”
He slid her a sideways glance. “I did.”
She wanted to know more. Had he been very poor? Who were his family?
“And you, Mrs. Mossant, where do you hale from?”
“I grew up on a small country estate, not far from Pebble’s Gate.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Digging Up Some Dirt
He could imagine her upbringing. Protected. Entitled. The daughter of landed gentry, betrothed at a young age to the son of a neighboring land owner. He’d known enough of them.
“I grew up in Mayfair,” he provided.
Not sure why he’d tell her this. Perhaps because she seemed to want to know. He’d set the record straight. Allow her an understanding of how he came to be the person he was today.
A man with genteel manners, but grossly below her notwithstanding.
“My father lived in a gardener’s hut, set behind the Earl of Peabody’s London manor. My mother worked in the Earl’s kitchen. His lordship was kind enough to keep her on despite their improprieties.”
“You grew up in Mayfair?” Clearly, he had indeed surprised her with this information. “I’m well acquainted with Lady Ester, his youngest daughter.” Her brows furrowed then.
It ought to come as no surprise to her. He’d grown up a servant to her equals.
Although employed professionally now, in essence, he still considered himself something of a servant on occasion.
He’d believed himself in love with Lady Ester’s older sister at one time. Ah, yes, he’d been a foolish lad back then. And he’d learned his lesson well.
Lines between the classes were as immovable as oceans and rivers. Perhaps more so.
“My father was a baron,” she chimed in. “Spoiled me rotten as a girl. My mother had probably been spoiled worse than me.” She scuffled along, her head down now. “Never in my life have I found an unhappier woman.”
He could think of no suitable response, so he offered none.
After a fashion, she continued. “She hated my father. Found fault in everything he did and everything he said. Can’t imagine my father was all that happy either. Tell me, were your parents in love?”
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