Page 16 of An Unwilling Earl
Surprised at the vehemence of the woman’s disgust, Charlotte took a step back. Her foot slipped off the step, and she windmilled her arms to catch her balance. She regained her footing and stood straight and tall, like her aunt had taught her to.
“I’m here to speak to Mr. Baker,” she said in as authoritative a voice as she could muster through her sudden fear. What if she couldn’t get past the door? What if Mr. Baker never knew she’d come looking for him?
“His lordship isn’t available for callers this late in the afternoon.”
His lordship?
Charlotte stumbled back to the next step. Sarah had never said anything about Jacob Baker having a title. The calling card Sarah had given Charlotte simply said Mr. Jacob Baker.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
“Go on. Get out.” The short little lady flapped her hands at Charlotte.
The last of her courage fled. Charlotte turned and bolted down the steps as hot tears flooded her eyes.
Why, oh, why had she thought Jacob Baker would help her? She should have stayed in the rookery. She should have never followed Mr. Baker—LordBaker—like a lovesick, silly little girl.
“Stop!”
The cry came from behind her, and she picked up her pace. If she were caught and reported to the constable she could spend the night in Newgate.
She was damned if she would be arrested now.
“Wait! Please!”
Her foot landed in a puddle, and cold water oozed through her ill-fitting shoe.
“I just want to talk to you.”
The voice was closer, gaining on her. Her heart pounded, and she could feel her legs slowing. Lack of food made her tired and lethargic. There was no way she could outrun whoever was behind her.
Defeated, she simply stopped and hung her head, gasping to drag in a lungful of air. There used to be a time when she could run and run and run and never get tired. When she’d been younger, living in the smog-free countryside with her papa.
The pounding footsteps drew closer, and she turned around to face her pursuer only to find that it was Jacob Baker himself.
He stopped, his chest heaving, dark whiskey-colored eyes assessing her. “I apologize for my housekeeper. She thinks she’s the dragon who guards the den. What do you need?”
Charlotte could hardly believe he was standing in front of her, talking to her. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted but remembered, just in time, that her fingers were dirty. All of her was dirty, and she was certain she reeked.
He had a nice voice. She recalled that now from when he’d saved her from the horse.
His brows drew together, and an adorable crease appeared between them. “Can I help you with anything?”
“I…” She had no idea how to start. What to say.Can I trust him?
“I’m Jacob Baker.”
She nodded, her throat closing up, the words stuck.
“Let’s go back to the house,” he said. “You look hungry.”
Her stomach turned over at the mention of food.
He tilted his head in the direction of his home. “We can talk where it’s warm.”
His voice was enticing, as warm as the house would be. His eyes were inviting, open, and sincere. She now knew why Sarah told her to trust this man, but should she? What if both she and Sarah were wrong?
In the end she knew she had no choice. Right now Jacob Baker was the only hope she had.
