Page 72 of Any Rogue Will Do
The carriage rocked under his weight. The only available space was next to Lottie, and judging by the smug look her maid and godmother exchanged, that wasn’t an accident.
“One more night on the road, then we can part ways at your father’s estate tomorrow before supper,” he said.
Well. Heroic rescuer or not, he clearly couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Not that she could blame him. Silence fell on the carriage for several miles. The longer they went without speaking, the sterner Agatha’s face grew, until the woman’s pointed looks at Lottie became uncomfortable. Try as she might, Lottie drew a blank, searching for a safe topic besides the weather.
“Does anyone else smell smoke?” She craned her neck to view the landscape. There wasn’t a telltale plume in a field, or even a nearby cottage to explain why she smelled fire.
Beside her, Ethan shifted farther away. “That’s me you’re smelling. I didn’ change clothing before I left, and then forgot tae bring a satchel for the road. Apologies. I was in a hurry.”
Ignoring that last bit of sarcasm, Lottie laid a hand on his knee and said, “How is Woodrest? I was worried sick over the fire. Are the tenants safe?” Goodness, how had she not asked before now? The thigh muscle under her fingers tensed, and she snatched her hand away as if burned. Everything about his body right now screamedhands off, and she had to respect that. But Lord, how she wanted to touch him. To linger and soak him in.
“Our good friend Montague hired an arsonist tae wreak havoc at Woodrest. I was dealing with that when I got your letter. No one was hurt. The construction site will need tae start anew. The granary is a loss, as is this year’s harvest. John Billings never made it tae the main house.”
“I trust the fiend is now in custody,” Agatha said.
“Nay, he’s my newest tenant.” He gave Agatha a tight smile. “After making such a mess, ’tis only right he cleans it up. Montague hired a desperate man tae do his dirty work in exchange for enough coin tae feed his family.”
Lottie rested her head in her hand and propped her elbow on the window ledge. Sweet heaven, had there ever been anyone sogoodas this man? “That’s a significant loss for you, and then you had to deal with my letter. How utterly wretched. I’m so sorry.”
“Aye, the twenty-fifth of never would have been a much better day tae call off the wedding. I understand why you did it, though.”
Silence descended once more, now laden with an awkwardness none of them could escape.
Agatha wasn’t one to let such a thing stand. “I think we can all agree Montague has done irreparable damage to your reputation. Slinking back to London with a concocted story might work, but Montague borrowed the carriage from one of his cronies, and that gentleman will talk. Returning to Westmorland is logical, but I do not like it. Not one bit.”
“I was planning to go home anyway. Not under these circumstances, granted. But in the end, it’s all the same. Spinsterhood may suit me after all. You don’t have a husband, and your life is exactly as you wish it to be.” Beside her, Ethan tensed, giving her hope. If he didn’t like talk of her future without him, he might be open to an apology.
Her godmother rolled her eyes. “Darling girl, there is an ocean of difference between a widow and a spinster. To think otherwise is foolishness. Marriage to the right person can mean unbelievable happiness. It is finding the right person that is the challenge. You two nodcocks managed to bungle your way into happiness through pure chance and half-baked scheming. Why not see if the earl thinks kindlier upon the match when seeing for himself the depth of your attachment?”
“I’m no’ worth Lottie risking her relationship with the earl. Having her own estate and the fortune with which tae run it means everything tae her,” Ethan said.
Ouch. Lottie bristled. “Money is noteverything. You sell yourself short, sir.”
Ethan finally met her eyes. “Do I, lass? I think we both know I have the right of it.”
The blue of his eyes deepened with hurt, turning a shade she’d only ever seen in the flash of a bird’s wing or the reflection off a lake. Passion made his eyes a soft blue gray. But pain was a vibrant blue. She’d rather not know that.
Darling’s wide-eyed expression implored Lottie to say something—anything—but all the words caught in her throat. Her emotions were a tangle, with guilt rising to the surface. When given the choice between Ethan or keeping her fragile relationship with Father and accessing her dowry, she’d chosen the money. Never mind that she’d had reasons for doing so.
The fact that Ethan needed her dowry now more than ever and she wouldn’t be able to help didn’t matter. That she’d decided he could have helped sooner with the fire if he’d been home instead of distracted with her was also irrelevant.
More than anything, she longed to rest her head on those shoulders that were wide enough to carry the world, and hear the rumble of Ethan’s voice in her ear telling her it would be all right. First, she’d need to find a way through his anger and ask for forgiveness.
***
Ethan shouldn’t have made a crack about her choosing her fortune over him. Regret slammed through him as soon as the words left his mouth. “I’m sorry, Lady Charlotte. That was rude. You were free tae end the engagement and did so for your own reasons. I apologize.”
The adorable little wrinkle between her eyes showed up only when her considerable intellect pondered something. In the past he would have smoothed the crease away with a finger, then teased a smile out of her. Ethan clasped his hands tighter between his knees.
Lady Agatha studied them with pursed lips. Darling sat quietly beside her, no doubt wishing she’d stayed behind with Cal.
Ethan held his tongue against a flood of words. Wouldn’t you know it, a big part of him wanted to beg. He’d thought there could be nothing worse than thundering up the Great North Road worried sick about her. He was wrong. Sitting next to her in a coach with their shoulders brushing at each bump and rut in the road and not being able to hold her could be a level of his own personal hell. As usual, Lottie was composed and keeping her cool, even after having to rescue herself from her kidnapper. There was an emotional boundary between them—her on one side and him on the other. To be held at a distance left him cold. She shifted beside him on the seat—right thereand he couldn’t touch her.
The carriage traveled at a sedate pace in order to keep their outriders and mounts as rested as possible for the journey, but he wished those wheels would turn faster. Ezra had arrived at the inn with a groom that morning and trotted alongside the coach. Even though it was kinder to let his mount travel without carrying his weight, it was tempting to escape the coach and ride outside.
They stopped in York for a meal and supplies. Near the posting house was a bookshop and small marketplace that provided everything they needed for the long day ahead—reading material for Agatha, Lottie, and Ethan, and knitting needles for Darling. At a stall near the entrance of the market, Darling had cooed over yarn and charmed a discounted price out of the wool merchant. With a skein of yarn in her lap, the maid now happily clicked the needles as she created something. It was anyone’s guess what the mass of string would become.
An hour later, a pressure on his hip pulled Ethan from the story of Rob Roy. After so long in the coach, Lottie had finally reverted to comfort over comportment. With her legs on the seat, she’d pressed her back against the side of the carriage, then rested her book on her thighs. He smiled. Ethan had found her curled up sideways in the library armchairs at Woodrest, and it was a common sight to catch her in an undignified sprawl in Lady Agatha’s drawing room. At last, his lady had found a comfortable perch, although the point of her shoe dug into his hip. Without a word, Ethan lifted his leg enough to slip her foot under his thigh and relaxed, pinning that small part of her beneath him. Maybe her toes were chilly inside the thin boot. Or maybe she missed touching him as much as he missed her. Whatever her reason for not moving her foot away, he absorbed the contact like a starving man hungry for her touch. Turning the page ofRob Roy, he stole a glance out of the corner of his eye. She smiled at the page in front of her.
