Marilee awoke to a sense of soreness and an aching head. It felt as if her entire body had been tossed around a small room like an unwanted doll. Then her memory sharpened as she rose up from the dreams, and she realized that was nearly precisely what had happened.
She sat up in what felt like a ridiculously luxurious bed, looking around in confusion. She wasn't in the Royal Mail coach any longer. She wasn't in her room in London. That was all she knew. This place was a mystery.
The bigger mystery was the sleeping man holding her hand.
My goodness, that must be an uncomfortable way to sleep.
The upper half of the man's body was sprawled on her bed. The lower was seated on a chair close to the edge of the bed. For all that he was large and powerfully built, with wide shoulders and corded muscles revealed under his rolled-up shirt-sleeves, there was something innocuous about him as well, sleeping next to her as peacefully as a child.
With the curate, she had recently had a hard lesson about becoming too familiar with strange men, but she couldn't stop herself from reaching down to touch his blond hair. There was a faint curl to it, and the strands ranged from nearly white to a deep rich honey.
Don't they always paint Lucifer as a blond, to show that he was once an angel?
She stroked his hair, relishing how sleek and soft the strands were. In his sleep, the man made a pleased rumbling sound, almost like a purr, and Marilee wondered how they had come to this place.
Before she could get carried away, she scooted back from him, retrieving her hand from his grasp and pulling away from his hair. She was still dressed in her drab gray traveling dress, which was a good sign at least.
She was just wondering how in the world she was going to figure out what was going on when the man stirred. He sat up with a slight groan, arching his back and revealing his body further to her. He was shockingly under-dressed in shirtsleeves and breeches, and she blushed a little when she saw the tail of his shirt pull up just enough to reveal a thin strip of his belly.
She averted her eyes hastily, and when she looked back, he was gazing at her with interest. His eyes were a deep coal black, a nearly shocking contrast to his hair. Lucifer indeed.
"Well, good morning."
The man's voice was a gravelly purr, and it took Marilee a moment to find her own.
"Good morning, sir. Please, where am I? What happened?"
"Well, you're at my estate, Huntingdon. We came here last night, when your mail coach upset."
Marilee shuddered as she remembered the curate's attack and the swaying of the coach, the screaming of the horses.
"Is... is everyone all right?"
"The horses are fine; the men are fine. The driver said something about bringing your traveling companion in to speak to the station master for terrifying the horses.”
"Good. That's the least the man deserves."
The coal-eyed gentleman tilted his head to look at her closely. "I take it his fate doesn't displease you?"
"He has, well, a way of taking advantage. I had to stab him with my knitting needles to make sure he understood what I meant when I said I had no interest in anything he could offer me, sermons or otherwise."
Instead of being offended that she had defended herself, as so many men would be, he grinned at her, looking more delighted than not.
"Well done, then, miss. He seemed a terrible blowhard, and I am pleased that he was put off."
"I would have done more than that if the coach hadn't upset... Oh, my god, you're the Earl of Huntingdon, aren't you?"
Her mind had finally caught up with the information he gave her. Five years ago, Samuel Winthrop, the Earl of Huntingdon had left London in a cloud of scandal that was still not clearly understood to this day. It wasn't even understood whether he had renounced the ton or simply been banished by the sheer force of disapproval, and all anyone knew was that he had ended up somewhere in the moors of Yorkshire.
The earl eyed her with a mixture of amusement and slight exasperation, and then he bowed from where he was seated.
"Guilty as charged, though I will say that most do not call me lord out here unless they have cause to."
"Then... what should I call you?"
"Try Sam." He paused, and she was struck to see a trace of vulnerability cross his face. "It's been a while since anyone has called me that, and I suppose I miss it."
Marilee repeated the name dubiously. "Sam. It seems a little too intimate, doesn't it?"
"Nonetheless, I think I would prefer it from you."
Why was there something in her that wanted to please him? Even as she wondered, she nodded. "If you like."
"And what shall I call you?"
She hesitated. "My name is Mrs. Crenshaw, and—"
"No, it's not."
How could a man go from sweet and warm to icy cold in just a few bare seconds? Sam stood up from the chair and took a step back. The amount of space between them was hardly greater than it had been a moment before, but it felt as if there were cold winds keeping them apart.
"Sam?"
"Do not lie to me. I cannot abide women who lie." Something dark and deadly in his tone brooked absolutely no compromise.
Marilee winced.
"I don't want to lie to you. The truth... is difficult for me right this moment."
There was too much for her to speak of to a stranger, too much that might get her dragged back to London, that might end up with her married to a man she both detested and feared.
Sam gave her a long look, and then it was as if a curtain dropped over his eyes. The wintery rage was gone, but so was the warmth from earlier, leaving her with a strange and empty feeling.
"Tell me as much as you wish to tell me, then, but no lies. I will not tolerate that."
She nodded, clasping her hands together in front of her. "All right. Please call me Marilee, then. That is as true as I can be."
"Marilee." Something about the way the handsome earl said her name made her shiver a little. It was as if he were inspecting every syllable, and it sent a shiver of strange sweetness down her spine.
"Does it suit you, my lord?" The words came out slightly tart with her frayed nerves.
Instead of being angry, as she had feared he might be, he only smiled at her, a slight vestige of the warmth he had displayed earlier returning.
"I suppose it must. It's a pretty name. Suits you. And as I have asked, if I may ask anything, please do not call me my lord."
Marilee found herself nodding before she thought it out. She could do that, she supposed, though it brought them close again in a way that was certainly inappropriate for two strangers who had never even been properly introduced. However, given that she was sleeping fully clothed in his guest room, and he was watching her with no chaperon to keep them both decent, there wasn't much appropriate about the two of them to begin with.
Sam sighed, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. "I suppose I have been remiss in my duties as a host. You are still wearing your traveling clothes. Shall I send one of the maids up to help you undress and bathe?"
Marilee started to decline the offer out of automatic politeness, but then she realized how very grubby she was and how tired she was of wearing road dirt. She nodded with relief, and then she noticed how low the sunlight was coming into the room.
"My goodness, what time is it?"
"Still a few hours until dusk but past lunch at least. Should I have some food sent up to you as well?"
"Please. I think I have been starving all this time without noticing."
He smiled at her before leaving the room. A part of her noted how very handsome his smile was while another part of her screamed at what was happening.
I've lost at least a half-day of travel. There wasn't another Royal Mail coach coming along this line for two days.
Her heart sunk as she realized that even with the fastest horse, there was no way she was going to make it to the ship she had planned to take to leave England.
For a mo
ment, the enormity of the disaster in which she had found herself overwhelmed her, and she simply stared at the bedspread in front of her.
Then her survival instincts kicked in, and she straightened up. She had not gotten this far for nothing, and a small thing like being stranded in Yorkshire was not going to stop her.
If I have to stay in England to hide, I suppose there are worse places to be than in the manor of one of London's greatest disappearing acts.
Of course, the problem was Sam and her situation. If he learned the details of it, there was a better than average chance he would simply send her back to London with a stern word. For all that he had been kind enough about the curate, she wasn't sure she trusted that kindness when other peers were involved.
So many of my friends that I thought I could trust. They all told me to defer to my stepfather's wishes.
She shuddered at the thought of returning to London defeated, at returning to the grips of the foul villain her mother had married and his equally foul brother. Marilee shook her head to rid herself of that image. She refused to entertain it.
Marilee pulled up her dress to access the small pouch hanging from her waist. It contained all the money she currently had in the world, a ring of her mother's that she couldn't bear to leave behind, and a sheet of paper that had been folded many times.
It was a ship's schedule, and with a wince, she could see that short of sprouting wings to fly away, she would not be able to be aboard the Seal's Run before it sailed. She scanned down the list of ships leaving Hull frantically, and she felt a mingled relief and horror that another ship, the Neptune's Chariot, was set to sail for Spain in three weeks.
Spain... he'll never think to look for me in Spain.
She needed to stay hidden until she could get aboard the Neptune's Chariot in three weeks, and Marilee wondered if she had stumbled upon a perfect hiding place without being aware of it.
No one would suspect me of hiding out with the missing Earl of Huntingdon, after all. This may be perfect, as long as he does not send me packing.
Before she could think further on the matter, there was a polite knock on the door, and after Marilee called cautious hello, a maid no older than fourteen came in carrying a basket of towels, soaps, and scrub brushes.
“Good afternoon, miss. My name's Elin. His lordship said that you'd probably want a bath now that you were up and about. Some of the lads will be up with a tub and plenty of hot water in a bit, so shall we get you behind the screen and undressed?”
That sounded more than agreeable to Marilee, but when she got out of the bed, she stumbled. She had been sleeping so long she was quite stiff, and Elin supported her with an arm around her waist.
“Oh, miss, do be careful. I heard you were in a carriage accident. Did you hurt your leg, too?”
Marilee was still for a moment, and then she nodded. “Yes, I suppose I must have. It's quite sore. I'm not sure if I can put all of my weight on it.”
Elin clucked over the injury and insisted that Marilee lean on her as they stepped behind the screen. She stripped Marilee out of her wretchedly filthy clothing, and then, from her voluminous basket, she produced a silk dressing gown for Marilee to wear until the footmen had filled the bath and left.
Marilee listened to Elin's statements with half an ear, reviewing her situation and trying to take all the angles into account. In the end, she realized that it was not as if she had much choice. It had been hard enough getting out of London. If the earl—Sam—sent her back, her chances of getting caught went up exponentially. No, she had to stay hidden in Yorkshire, and that meant betting on the fact that Sam would not turn out a young woman who was injured.
He's not necessarily the nicest person in the world. He's not necessarily well-mannered or patient. But I would bet rather a lot on the fact that he wouldn't turn out someone who needed his help.
When Marilee thought about it, she realized it was a fairly sizable bet she was taking. Her stepfather, of course, wouldn't scruple to turn someone out as soon as they became useless to him, but already she could see that Sam was made of much different stuff.
He's a good man. A good man I will be taking advantage of, but a good man nonetheless.
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CHAPTER FOUR
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Despite years of living in the country, Sam still kept city hours. After the sun had set, Huntingdon Hall blazed with candles, and dinner was on the table at ten in the evening. Sam briefly wondered if he should have the main dining hall table set for himself and his new guest, and then he dismissed it. Until he figured out who she was and what her business was, the small family dining room where he took his own meals would be good enough for her.
As he waited for her in the small room, Sam became aware of a gentle thumping in the hall. For a moment, he had no idea what it was, and then, as it grew closer, his eyes narrowed. Just as the sound paused before the dining room door, he rose from his seat and threw the door open, revealing a startled footman and an equally startled Marilee. He took in the source of the thumping; a heavy wooden crutch was tucked beneath her arm, and he scowled.
“You were more injured in the crash then we knew?”
“I was more injured than I knew as well. I didn't notice that my ankle was hurt until Elin roused me for a bath.”
“Shall we call for a doctor? The one who inspected you thought you would be completely healthy once you woke up.”
She offered him a smile that Sam found oddly sweet, shrugging. “Why? It is only an injured ankle. I've had them before from slipping over paving stones in London. It will heal on its own without you needing to spend money on a doctor.”
“Damn it, girl, I'm not going to begrudge you a doctor's fee if you need one.”
At Marilee's slight recoil and his own footman's rather reproachful look, Sam realized he had spoken far too loudly and emphatically than the matter required. He winced; he really had been out of company for far too long.
All three of them stood awkwardly for a moment.
Marilee cleared her throat.
“My ankle does get rather tired if I am standing on it too long. Perhaps we could both take our places?”
“Yes, of course.”
Sam dismissed the footman and saw her to her place at the small table, pulling out the chair and pushing it in for her as she sat carefully, the crutch balanced against the wall behind her.
“You are sure you will not need a doctor? The expense is hardly too great.”
She gave him an amused look that should have embarrassed him, coming from a woman as young as she was. Instead, it made him risk a tentative smile. It felt strange on his face, and with a wince, Sam realized all over again how long it had been since he had been called upon to be at all entertaining.
“I thank you for the offer, my lord, but no. It will heal in its own time. Of course, I do not know when that may be. If you need me gone sooner—”
Sam scowled at her. “No, god, no. What kind of savage do you think I am? If you are in desperate need to leave, I will make arrangements that will keep you as comfortable as I can, but otherwise, there's no reason that you can't stay at Huntingdon.”
She flinched a little at that, and Sam remembered all over again how Society felt about young women staying with men to whom they were not already wed.
“You're worried about your reputation.”
“It is hardly a small thing, my lord.”
“No, it's not. If it is any comfort to you, Huntingdon is remote, and believe me when I say that I do not entertain or receive visitors. Your presence here can be as discreet as you need it to be. Do you need it to be?”
She shrugged, and despite her young age, he wondered if there was something tired in her movements. “I should, shouldn't I? My reputation is already at risk from my trip north. I should safegu
ard it as well as I can. Thank you for your consideration, my lord.”
Sam knew it was ridiculous to ask her to call him Sam again when she had made such deliberate use of his title, but then she looked up at him again, a slight smile on her heart-shaped face.
“But you are not meant to be my lord, are you? You are meant to be Sam.”
Sam felt a distinct blush of pleasure come over him when he heard his name on her lips. He covered it by looking away. “I am. And you are Marilee, until you care to tell me more.”
She gazed at him with eyes the brilliant green of rare emeralds. They sparked with merriment, and he knew at that moment, instinctively, that she was given more to joy than she was to any other emotion.
Diana Sensational Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 26
