Along Came a Lady

by Christi Caldwell

  And worse, it would be a wonder if anyone managed to find a person in that crowd.

  Her heart dropped.

  “Ma’am?” the driver urged.

  Accepting his hand, she allowed him to help her down. “I will return shortly.”

  Or so she hoped.

  Gathering up her wool skirts, Edwina started forward.

  At first, as engrossed as they were in their tasks, no one paid her so much as a glance. The slight heels of her leather slippers sank into the moist earth, and she struggled across the uneven ground.

  The closer she drew to the heart of activity, the more notice she earned.

  People paused in their work to gawk openly, their eyes filled with suspicion.

  That nauseated feeling in her stomach returned in full force. Meet them with a smile . . .

  Or . . . mayhap, this time, just focus on her assignment. Edwina pushed her bonnet back. She kept her chin up and continued her forward march.

  All the while she scoured the area for Rafe Audley, foreman. Where was he? She’d imagined just one man aboveground, while his workers toiled below. And certainly not this veritable army of people at work. Children pushing carts filled with coal that a grown man should have struggled to move. Women, in dark-stained garments, physically operating the equipment above the mine shafts. And men preparing for their climb below.

  People stared as she passed; however, no one bothered to question Edwina’s presence. They all went about the tasks driving them.

  And never had she been more grateful for the career she’d fashioned for herself. For all her reservations in coming here, it had been the right decision . . . to spring the duke’s sons from such a fate.

  Lifting her sealed parasol, she waved it at a small boy pushing a wheelbarrow. “Excuse me,” Edwina called over the noise. “Little bo—” The child looked up, and Edwina missed a step.

  It was a girl.

  A very small one, at that.

  Edwina quickly collected herself. She offered a gentle smile that had always managed to have a calming effect on her charges and their parents. This child proved no exception. She wheeled her cart to a stop before Edwina.

  “Ma’am?” the little girl asked.

  And that returned warmth proved . . . different than what had usually greeted her from the villagers in her own county. Or the others she’d visited along the way, in her work as a governess.

  Edwina dropped to a knee. “Hullo,” she murmured.

  The whites of the young girl’s eyes stood out stark against her soot-stained cheeks. “Are you a princess?”

  Edwina caught that awe-infused whisper even over the cacophony of the miners’ shouts.

  She laughed softly. “Hardly.” In fact, she couldn’t be further from it. Edwina, as the bastard-born daughter of a marquess and a woman who’d loved far beyond her reach, would never wear the title of lady. In fact, if the world knew the truth about the origins of her birth, there’d not even be the secure, respectable life she’d created for herself.

  The little girl touched the puffed sleeve of Edwina’s ice-blue muslin cloak, and in her exploration of the fabric, she left little smudges upon the previously unsullied fabric. “It is realllll,” the girl said softly.

  “Indeed. Very soft, isn’t it?” she asked in gentle tones.

  The wide-eyed girl nodded.

  Edwina sank back on her haunches. “I was wondering if you might help me, I’m looking for—”

  “Who in hell are you?” a deep baritone boomed behind her, slashing across the unexpectedly sweet exchange she’d shared with the child. “What is going on here?”

  And as the girl hurried to grab the handles of her filled wheelbarrow and scurried off, Edwina knew. She knew without receiving a name, or having so much as a glance, that the peremptory voice could only belong to one who commanded this noisy, filthy place. One who also apparently thought nothing of scaring off children.

  Annoyance snapped through her.

  Mayhap that high-handedness was a trait all the children of dukes—even illegitimate ones—were born with.

  Edwina struggled to get herself upright in the thick mire, and turned. “I beg . . .” Her breath caught, and words left her as her gaze landed on the heavily muscled stranger stalking toward her. His long legs easily ate away the distance, bringing him closer.

  She’d thought about much where Rafe Audley was concerned—who he was, how she’d convince him to join her on the journey back to London. The work he did.

  But she’d never thought of him . . . the man.

  Broad of shoulders and narrow of waist, he’d drawn his dark hair back in a queue. Some slightly curled strands had pulled loose and hung about his shoulders, giving him the look of Apollo.

  And shameful though it was, for it marked her very much her mother’s daughter . . . one with a head easily swayed by a handsome form—Edwina found herself riveted by the mere sight of the approaching miner. He was . . . nothing short of magnificent. The manner of man that pushed all rational thought from a woman’s head and filled it, instead, with thoughts of him in all his glorious male beauty.

  The barrel-chested mountain of a man stopped before her and stole her breath in the process. Every last bit of air, gone from her lungs and trapped somewhere in her throat.

  In a bid to break this quixotic spell, Edwina pointed her parasol toward the slick mud and made a show of adjusting the umbrella. Only it proved to be the wrong action, for it brought her gaze into direct line with his beautifully contoured, muscular thighs.

  Edwina swallowed spasmodically.

  “What the hell are you doing at my mines?” he barked, effectively shattering the moment of madness that had held her in its grip.

  With his mouth and manners, she was going to have her work cut out for her. “I’m looking for Rafe Audley.”

  The sharply chiseled contours of his face, from the bold slash of his cheekbones to the perfectly squared jaw, were a mask that may as well have been etched in stone.

  Nearly eight inches past five feet, Edwina had enjoyed the luxury of looking down at most people, or in the eyes of most men. The surly stranger glaring darkly at her must be a foot taller, and she was required to tip her head back to meet his gaze.

  Then she wished she hadn’t.

  Those dark blue depths pierced into her, driving every last single thought she’d managed to hold on to until then straight out of Edwina’s mind, but for one question: “Are you him? Are you Rafe Audley?”

  He sharpened that penetrating gaze on her face. “Who is asking?”

  She wetted her lips. “Well, I am.” This was a first for her—all of it. Being unsettled. Being the one without proper words. Struggling to find her footing. Those responses were generally reserved for her charges. And there’d been so many that she shouldn’t be reduced to this hesitant mess, and all because of a man’s physique.

  His thick, dark lashes swept down. “Are you wasting my time with some damned jest?”

  Was she . . . ?

  She shook her head. She’d never been one to jest, and she’d only been a straight talker. “I’m afraid I do not follow.”

  “Who are you?” he snapped. “And why in hell are you on my grounds and talking to my staff?”

  And with that, she’d confirmation of what she already suspected. “You are Rafe Audley, then.” Edwina stretched out a palm. “How do you do?”

  He stared at her fingers but made no move to take them, and that icy disdain was enough to snap her out of whatever momentary muddleheaded state she was in where he was concerned. Edwina let her arm fall to her side. Shouts went up around the grounds, and she raised her voice to ensure she could be heard over it. “My name is Miss Edwina Dalrymple.”

  All the gentleman’s focus remained beyond her. For one sought after by countless clients, who even fawned in a bid to
secure her work, it was a humbling moment to find herself—invisible.

  “Stabilize the headframes,” Mr. Audley thundered, and she followed his gaze over to the miners scrambling to right a framework that supported some manner of pulley system over the shaft.

  The gentleman started for the commotion, but she slipped herself into his path, blocking his escape. “As I was saying, Mr. Audley, my name is Miss Dalrymple—”

  “Your name means nothing to me, and I’ve work to see to.” He easily stepped around her, and she gathered up her now muddied hems and started in pursuit.

  “No, I don’t suppose you would know me.” Splendid. As rude as any villager she’d ever known in Leeds. She’d now be saddled with him as her latest charge. “We’ve never met and . . .”

  He hastened on ahead, so that she was left slightly out of breath and staring after him.

  With a little huff, Edwina pushed her bonnet back and followed his fast-retreating frame. “Mr. Audley?” she called, waving her parasol in the air and attracting even more curious looks. Alas, she may as well have been invisible to the one person whose attention she sought. All his focus was on—

  She stopped walking; the sight ahead of her freezing her square in her tracks. A team of miners worked together to harness a small pony. Edwina widened her eyes. Hefting her heavy hem higher, she bolted after the duke’s son, her reason for being here briefly forgotten. “Are you . . . lowering that horse underground?” she demanded. For what end? “Horses don’t belong underground, Mr. . . .” Her words ended on a sharp squeak, as he wheeled abruptly about and faced her.

  Narrowing his eyes once more, he started toward her with sleek, quick, and anger-fueled strides that sent her into an automatic retreat.

  “Stop,” he thundered.

  The hell she would.

  In her haste to escape him, Edwina tripped over herself.

  He was upon her in three long strides.

  “Stand back!” she cried. Edwina was lifting her parasol to swat him back when the earth sank under her heels. She shot her arms out to steady herself . . . in vain.

  On a rush of movement, she found herself sliding and skating backward on loose, slick mud. She cried out as her parasol and bag went flying free, and she went tumbling back and back.

  She was going to die here . . .

  That was to be her fate for wanting more for her life . . .

  A scream tore from her throat.

  But then, the world righted itself.

  Or rather, he righted her.

  Rafe Audley caught her hard at the waist and hauled her forward. And this time, in a bid to dodge peril, she threw herself at the unforgivably hard wall of his chest.

  Her pulse racing, Edwina clung tight to her unlikely savior; curling her fingers in the coarse fabric of his wool coat, she simply hung on to him and survival.

  Until, at last, the earth stopped moving under their feet . . . and they skidded to a stop.

  Edwina’s pulse hammered in her ears and muted all sound of the bustling mine, including whatever words were falling from the hard slash of his angry lips.

  She tipped her head and focused on his mouth.

  Of a sudden, all sound came whirring back to her ears on a noisy rush.

  “. . . are you off of your goddamned mind? You don’t have a brain in your head . . .” Then, holding her at the wrist the way a nursemaid might a naughty charge, he tugged her along, away from the weakened ground. “You’re a long ways from home, princess. A woman like you doesn’t have any place here.”

  Princess.

  Slung in that condescending way, his was hardly an endearment. “You are mistaken,” she said, struggling to match his stride; otherwise, she’d be dragged down. “I have business here.”

  That brought him to such a quick stop that Edwina crashed against him.

  She grunted.

  She may as well have hit whatever mined stone now sat in an enormous heap behind them for the strength of him.

  He eyed her up and down, and she felt her skin burning hot under the condescending scrape of his gaze. “Business with who?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  Edwina nodded.

  “What the hell did you say?” he thundered over the din of the work-yard. Or that was, anyway, what Edwina told herself. Because that was safer and eminently more preferable than thinking he was, in fact, yelling at her.

  Before Edwina could respond, a miner called out. “You’re needed, Audley.”

  Cursing enough to bring a different color to her cheeks, Mr. Audley walked off to meet the young man.

  Doing a quick search of the muddied earth, she located her bag and parasol. Holding her already hopelessly muddied hems, Edwina lowered herself to retrieve each article. Her bag had landed atop a boulder, but her parasol had proven less fortunate.

  Drip.

  Drip—drip.

  Mud slipped like a slow stream of teardrops, one after the other, from the lace-trimmed masterpiece. Her heart sank. She could well commiserate with the cherished object. Edwina shook the parasol several times, splattering mud as she did. It didn’t help. Alas, there’d be time enough later to lament and clean the piece.

  She made her way back to Mr. Audley.

  And found the gentleman still conversing. Tapping the tip of her parasol upon a jagged boulder beside her, she waited.

  And waited.

  And was still waiting several moments later before it hit her: he’d not only dismissed her, but he’d returned to . . . to . . . whatever mining business he now saw to.

  As Mr. Audley responded to the young miner, Edwina backed up a step, not out of fear this time but, rather, so she might again look at, and not up at, her new charge. For there was no doubting . . . she was not leaving Cheadle without Rafe Audley. She’d come to that determination somewhere between the moment he’d sent a child running and the moment he’d saved her from a nasty fall. Initially, she’d been compelled by the offerings made by the duke and duchess. Now, it was about . . . the challenge he posed.

  “Ahem.”

  The sound of her clearing her throat was overwhelmed by a god-awful grinding sound that went on several moments, at an intermittent pace, before at last stopping. “Ahhemmm,” she repeated, this time louder and clearer.

  Mr. Audley turned his attention back to Edwina, and blinked. “You’re still here.”

  She fought the urge to wrinkle her nose. He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Only . . . as he wheeled about, it hit her . . . he really had forgotten her. Like hell. And she’d never been the cursing sort, priding herself on being proper and using proper language, but damned—blast, if Mr. Audley hadn’t driven her to it. A duke’s son, indeed. Gathering up her hopelessly ruined parasol, she waved it in a bid to capture his attention. “It is my hope and expectation that we will have shared business with one another.”

  That managed to freeze him in his tracks.

  Mr. Audley flicked a cool stare over her cloak, and that mocking gaze lingered on the lace that dripped along the rim of her puffed sleeves. “And what kind of business do you think I’d have with you, princess?”

  Her ears fired hot. Did she imagine the suggestive meaning to his question there? Nay, she’d not. And by the taunting sneer on his lips, he’d intended for her to read those words precisely as the double entendre they were. “It will take more than uncouth innuendos to unnerve me, Mr. Audley.”

  “I did call you ‘princess,’ ” he drawled.

  And in that moment she appreciated that this assignment would be the greatest challenge of any to have ever preceded it, and for the first time since she’d agreed to take him on, she found the first real stirrings of eagerness. “Yes, well, that didn’t alter the first part of your suggestive words, Mr. Audley. One that hinted at an improper connection between us.”

 
“Do you want to clarify about the improper connection?”

  At his side, the forgotten-until-now miner snorted a laugh.

  Hmph to him, too. Refusing to give either of them the satisfaction, she went on, “No, I do not want to elucidate for you, Mr. Audley. Instead, your endearment.”

  “It wasn’t an endearment.”

  She pounced. “Precisely. As such, that word choice only added a layer of insult to—”

  “Mission accomplished then.”

  She let out an indignant huff. “So you are in the habit of going about insulting women.”

  “Consider yourself the first.”

  Giving her head an annoyed little shake, she reached inside the small satchel at her wrist and fished out her notepad.

  “What in hell are you doing?” he blurted as she jotted down her notes.

  “I think it should be fairly obvious,” Edwina said, not lifting her focus from her book. “However, I will elucidate this part for you: I’m making notes about you and your habits, Mr. Audley.” She added several more, before snapping the book closed. And when she looked up, she found she’d managed the seemingly impossible: to completely silence the lout.

  Another miner trotted over. The young man hesitated, slanting a glance Edwina’s way, and she reflexively tensed under that brief scrutiny. “Audley, do you want the hewers in now?” he asked. “Or do you want us to wait?”

  His high brow creased, Rafe Audley looked at the wiry miner shooting questions his way and then back at Edwina. “What are you on about?”

  She cleared her throat. “Are you talking to me?” she pointed the end of her parasol past him, to the miner waiting a yard away. “Or were you answering—?”

  “Do you think I’m talking to him or you?” he bellowed.

  He’s a surly, cantankerous one.

  Even as the young miner ducked his head in a bid to make himself invisible, Edwina refused to be cowed. She tilted her chin up a notch. “Given my question, I think it should be fairly clear that I have no idea to whom you were framing your question.” She didn’t allow him to get a word in edgewise. After all, as any good instructor knew, every moment was a teachable one. “And for that matter, neither did he.” She glanced over at the round-eyed fellow, staring back at her and Mr. Audley. “Isn’t that right . . . Mr. . . . ?”