Voyage With a Viscount

by Murdoch, Emily

  “Rebecca Kirkland,” she invented wildly, her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap. “And you are?”

  There was something of an intensity in his face that she could not bear, and with nowhere else to look in the enclosed carriage that did not run the risk of accidentally catching his gaze, Rowena looked outside the window. The rain was pouring down in sheets.

  If she did not know any better, she would have said that he hesitated before he said, “James Paendly, at your service.”

  If Rowena had hoped that silence would intimate to Mr Paendly that she would like to be left alone, she was sorely mistaken.

  “What bad weather we are experiencing,” he remarked.

  Rowena almost laughed aloud. The weather? There was hardly a more British pastime, it was true, than discussions about the weather, but it felt a little forced in this carriage rattling along at twelve miles an hour between two complete strangers.

  “Yes, it is,” she said quietly, not taking her eyes away from the window. Surely he would understand from her silence that she did not wish to speak.

  Apparently not.

  “And are you drying off, Miss Kirkland?”

  For a heart-stopping moment, Rowena almost turned around to stare at him, confused – but then remembered the false name that she had but moments ago given the gentleman. Her cheeks coloured slightly.

  “No,” she said honestly, “I am not.”

  In another life – goodness, only three days ago – she would have been mortified to give such a blunt answer to a gentleman, and one who was so evidently well born and well bred. But the past twenty-four hours had changed Rowena, and she could not hide from that. There was something harder in her now, she could feel it. Something that did not tolerate fools, but was also less tolerant of herself. It was a harshness, a coldness. Something that Mr Bentley had done to her.

  “Well, I hope that this will be a quicker route home for you,” said Mr Paendly easily, and out of the corner of her eye, Rowena saw him stretch out his legs. “Marshurst is not far away, in the grand scheme of things.”

  Rowena tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. What a fool she had been, giving her genuine destination to this man! Why, it would not take him five minutes of conversation with anyone in Marshurst to discover her true identity, to learn of the scandal that she had left behind! How stupid she was!

  Heart racing faster and faster, Rowena tried to keep her eyes away from him as she said, “But Marshurst is just a change in my journey, sir, not my final destination.”

  Try as she might, she found it impossible to keep her gaze away from him – and was startled to find that Mr Paendly, handsome and incredibly present in the enclosed carriage, was staring directly at her.

  A blush that she fought against and lost the battle with, spread across her cheeks.

  “Miss Kirkland, have we ever met before?”

  Rowena swallowed. He was a curious man, and that curiosity could be her very undoing.

  “I…I do not think so,” she said slowly, returning her eyes to the window and the pouring rain. “I am rarely in town.”

  She dropped back into silence again, hoping beyond hope that Mr Paendly would take the hint – but it was not to be.

  “Now, that is a shame,” he said jovially. “Why?”

  Rowena could feel her pulse quicken in her wrists as she clasped her hands together in her lap. This was insufferable – perhaps she would have been better of if she had stayed at the Wingston Inn for two additional days, waiting for the coach.

  But no. By that time, Oscar – Mr Bentley – would have arrived back at his parents’ home, and without her. It would not do to spark the scandal this early.

  “I am not fond of town,” she lied quietly. “I spend much of my time in…in Scotland. With my great-uncle.”

  The lies tasted bitter against her tongue, but she had no choice: Mr Paendly was far too curious for his own good. Her heart thundered against her chest. It would never do for him to find out – or work out – her secret.

  * * *

  James could not help it: he could do nothing but stare. Had he ever felt more intrigued about another living soul on this earth?

  He could not remember being so, and so the stare continued, even as he saw the pink flush of consciousness of his gaze creep across Miss Kirkland’s cheek as she looked resolutely out of the window.

  There was nothing to see there; naught but mud and storm. She could only be fixated on it so sternly to avoid himself, and this suggested more questions than it answered. Why was she so vague about her destination, so secretive about why she was rarely in town? What was she hiding?

  Now that she was sitting down mere feet from him and not standing dishevelled in the rain, James had the time to notice her incredibly fine eyes. Large and full of expression, it seemed impossible for Miss Kirkland to hide what she was thinking at any point, something that endeared her to him immediately.

  Why would you not wish to spend time around a woman so easily moved to deep emotion?

  But the more he looked, the more detail he noticed. Soft and rounded lips, frequently drawn together in a perfect mirror to the frown across her forehead. Her gown, in the latest fashion as it was, clung to her waist and legs as it slowly started to dry. Her hair starting to curl as the moisture left it, curling around her ear, frizzing around the base of her neck which curved delightfully into a heaving chest as she tried, and failed, to calm her breathing.

  James grinned. He could only hope that it was himself that was having such an intense effect on her. Uncomfortable, she may be, but surely she had met gentleman like him before? The elegant stance, the rich clothes – she surely must be a relatively wealthy woman.

  So what was she doing alone, standing in the rain, outside a mediocre inn?

  “What were you doing there?”

  In an instant, James realised that he had asked the question aloud, and cursed himself silently. Was it not clear that Miss Kirkland was already uncomfortable with him? But then, if you did not ask …

  For the first time since she had stepped into his carriage, James received a proper reaction from her – but it was not a friendly one.

  “That,” she snapped, turning to glare at him, “is none of your business. I have no desire or design to tell you anything, Mr Paendly, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep your impertinent questions to yourself.”

  This time she did not look away, but remained glaring at him. James felt a thrill of delight rush through his body mingled with irritation at her tone. What, was this chit to deny him?

  “I am unaccustomed to not getting my own way,” he said lightly, but with a little force behind his words. “And this is my carriage that we are sitting in, is it not? I think I have the right to enquire.”

  “And I would say not,” Miss Kirkland said, with an eyebrow raised. “Who are you to demand such answers from me? You are neither brother, nor father, nor…nor husband. You can keep your questions, sir, for I will answer none of them.”

  James smiled at her, slowly. The hesitation around the word ‘husband’ was enough to tell him where her concern lay, at any rate. So, what was it – running away from her husband, was she?

  “We have a long journey ahead of us.” His voice sounded far more calm than he felt, as the irritation of being refused grew.

  But Miss Kirkland seemed unimpressed by his words. “We do indeed,” she smiled, “and so I would recommend that you do not make it intolerable for me.”

  Without another word, she turned back to the window.

  James’ jaw dropped. Was such insolence to be borne with? He was the Viscount Paendly, and no one had ever spoken to him in this way in his life!

  But then, he reminded himself, Miss Kirkland did not know that – and the impulsive decision that he made to keep that fact from her worked at his imagination. How would she have behaved, he wondered, if she knew that she was speaking to one of the richest men in all England?

  He watched her
for a moment, and saw the increased breathing, watched her breasts shudder as she tried to control it, saw the twitch in her hands as she tried to stay calm, stay still.

  Something dark and hungry rose up in James, and he found himself staring at those breasts a little longer than was strictly appropriate. By God, but she was beautiful.

  “Is there something that you would like to say?”

  James started as his eyes moved upwards by a foot, and he saw a flushed yet furious look on Miss Kirkland’s face. So, he had been caught – but he was not ready to be overridden by this woman just yet.

  He smiled. It was time to have a little fun with Miss Kirkland, and call her bluff.

  Without breaking eye contact with her, he raised a hand and knocked on the roof of the carriage. With an abrupt judder, the coach began to slow down, and eventually stop. Now that they were not moving, the patter of the rain on the roof was louder, more insistent.

  Miss Kirkland looked away from him, staring outside the window to see where they had stopped – and James saw her eyes widen as she realised that they had come to rest at nowhere at all.

  He risked a quick look outside his own window, and his smile broadened. It truly was an empty part of the road, with no buildings in sight whatsoever.

  “Why have we stopped?” Miss Kirkland’s voice had lost that steel which had riled him so, and James was pleased to hear that there was a hint of nervousness now.

  James smiled at her. “Why, Miss Kirkland, it is quite evident to me that you are not enjoying the ride. In fact, nothing could be more clear.”

  She glared at him, without speaking, and so he continued.

  “I have no wish to impose my company on you, as it is clearly so repugnant,” he said smoothly, and reached across her – being careful not to touch her legs, much as he may wish to – opening the carriage door with his left hand. “Out you get.”

  Miss Kirkland stared at him, then the open door, and then her gaze flew back to him. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am setting you down here,” said James grinning, raising his voice slightly so that it could be heard over the noise of the hammering rain.

  The glare that Miss Kirkland shot him at the moment was terrible to behold, but it shot a thrill through James’ body that had nothing to do with the coldness in her eyes, and was more connected to the heat rising from his stomach.

  Astonished by the power of her eyes as he was, James kept silent and watched her struggle with herself silently.

  “You cannot be so stupid as to think that I wish to get out!” She eventually burst out.

  James laughed, and it seemed to infuriate her even further.

  “My God, you are happy to abandon me in the middle of nowhere, on my own, with darkness approaching?”

  James shrugged. “Miss Kirkland, it is not in my nature to keep young women prisoner in my own carriage when they must certainly have no wish to be here with me. I think it only right to give you the chance to disembark.”

  Her dark brown eyes flashed with anger, and she stared outside and back at him several times in quick succession, but said nothing.

  “You see,” he said quietly, and her eyes came to rest on him as he spoke, “unless you are talking, and enjoying our conversation, then really there is no point in you being here.”

  For a moment, James though that he had gone too far. Was this cruel, this pretence, for of course, there was absolutely no chance that he would genuinely abandon a lady like this.

  But she was not to know that. Miss Kirkland had no idea that she was travelling with the Viscount Paendly, and that gave him the upper hand…for now.

  She was hesitating, clearly torn. James tried not to hold his breath, desperately hoping that she would not call his bluff. Was he really capable of such a thing?

  But as he watched, he saw control reasserted across her face, and Miss Kirkland smiled scathingly at him. Without saying a word, she reached out and pulled the door too, and then knocked on the top of the carriage roof.

  As Smith drove the horses forward and the carriage started to move once more, Miss Kirkland smiled mockingly and leaned back into the cushions, saying, “And what would you like our first topic of conversation to be, Mr Paendly?”

  Astonished, shocked almost to silence, James stared at her. Her prettiness was transformed to beauty as she smiled at him with irritation just visible beneath it. There was something incredible within her, some depth of steely grit – and James just had to discover it.

  3

  Rowena watched Mr Paendly open his mouth, and tried not to become completely distracted by the way his jawline became even more pronounced as he did so, but he was unable to utter a sound before he was jolted forward.

  The carriage had come to an abrupt halt.

  “Smith, damn you!” Mr Paendly shouted, and Rowena flushed at the curse word whilst hating herself for it at the same time. Was she to be constantly restrained by her parents’ upbringing, always finding fault in none but the upper classes? It was surely not Mr Paendly’s fault that he was not better mannered.

  He shot her a smile. “And before we could talk properly, ‘tis a crying shame.”

  As he hammered once more on the roof crying out for his driver, Rowena found that the tension she did not even realise that she was carrying in her shoulders was starting to dissipate. Relieved that they were not to converse at this moment after all, she glanced through the window to see where they had stopped.

  She blinked, eyes attempting to become accustomed to the growing darkness, but could still see nothing. So why had they stopped?

  “Ah, Smith,” said Mr Paendly severely as the door on his side opened. “What is going on?”

  “’Pologies m’lord,” said the gruff voice coming from a man that Rowena could barely see. “‘Tis all this rain, it’s been the devil for the river, sir, and it has burst its banks.”

  “Banks?” Mr Paendly said blankly, but Rowena had heard enough to feel sharp disappointment. She had been hoping to make it to at least Aylesbury by nightfall, and now the way before them was blocked.

  “Aye sir, the banks of the river,” Smith seemed to be explaining. “The bridge has gone completely, washed away. There is no route through.”

  Rowena watched Mr Paendly out of the corner of her eye as he started to process this news. “No route through?”

  The unseen Smith must have shaken his head, as Mr Paendly dropped back into the coach with a deep sigh.

  “Well, Miss Kirkland, what do you suggest?”

  Rowena coloured slightly as his gaze rested on her once more, and she became conscious once more of how damp her clothes were. “Suggest?”

  Mr Paendly opened his hands wide. “You can see the situation that we find ourselves in – and I would be a fool not to notice the strong disappointment that you feel. You cannot hide it from me.”

  Instead of colouring, to her delight, Rowena found herself grow even more stern. “And why should I hide it from you, Mr Paendly? I can pretend no great wish to stay with you in this carriage for longer than is required, and now your driver is telling me that that time is to be elongated. I will not hide it: I am displeased.”

  She watched his response closely; watched to see that tightness in his jaw as his frustration with her threatened to boil over, the clenching of the hands, the swallowing down of retorts that were not gentlemanly.

  And yet, none of those expected actions came to pass. Instead, he merely stared at her, as though he could see those very thoughts in her mind, and was intrigued by them. She tried to hold his gaze, hold it as long as he could. Ignoring his handsome features and the way that he made her feel remarkably warm did not help.

  And then Mr Paendly smiled, and looked back at his servant. “Smith, turn back. I think I saw a coaching inn not a few miles back, we passed it on our left hand side. We are losing the light, and there is little point in attempting to find an alternative place to stay.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” came the reply from Smith,
and Rowena felt the shake of the coach as Smith placed himself once more at the front by the horses.

  “You have no objections?” Mr Paendly was still smiling at her, but this was a broad smile, a teasing smile, the sort of smile that a brother may have given her, if she had ever had one.

  Rowena had hoped to remain quiet, unnoticed, and undisturbed for the remainder of the journey to the coaching inn, but of course, it was not to be.

  She shook her head, but Mr Paendly seemed insistent. In a sly voice and with a smile bordering on cheek. “Now then, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? Ah yes. You were about to tell me why you are so interested in getting home as soon as possible.”

  Rowena glared at him, but she was not entirely sure whether he would follow out his promise to deposit her by the side of the road, and the last thing she needed was to be mistaken for a vagabond.

  Sighing, she tried out her most petulant tone in the hope that it would mask her words, and this curious Mr Paendly would not see any deeper meaning to her words.

  “La, sir,” she said with a curling smile. “Can a lady not have a friend to call on? A…a friend with a very agreeable brother, if you must know.”

  In an instant, she saw the disappointment in his eyes, and she had to restrain herself from broadening her grin. There we are; living up to the stereotype that others had of you sometimes had its advantages, clearly.

  “So what were you doing at the Wingston Inn, Miss Kirkland?” He asked, the interest fading from his voice, and reverting back to the tone of polite, but relatively indifferent conversation.

  Again, she had to resist the urge to be startled at the unfamiliar name – she had to remember that she had introduced herself as Rebecca Kirkland, she really must!

  “I was on my way home, sir,” she said archly with a smile.

  She could see the irritation now in his eyes, in the way that he tilted his body almost unconsciously to face her.

  “But where had you been?” Mr Paendly shifted in his seat, closer to her, and Rowena tried not to shrink away from him. It would never do to offend him. “Which friend, where do they live?”