Page 3 of A Lady's Past
“The hell you will. I might not be English, but I’ll not sleep in the bed while you lie on the cold floor. You may have the bed, and I will manage with the chair.”
Those full, rosy lips opened as if to protest when someone scratched on the door.
Jacques opened it to a lady in a voluminous robe and cap. Her mousy brown hair poked out from under the threadbare cap, but her faded blue eyes were filled with joy. “I’ve got tea and stew. I thought you might be hungry after traveling through the weather. You both look wet through. There are extra blankets in that trunk, and I brought you warm water for washing.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Tinker. You are most kind.”
“Anything you need, you just ask.” She blushed and rushed out.
Diana opened the trunk and removed a quilt made with scraps of dozens of materials. The most charming blush lit her cheeks. “I would be grateful if you would hold this while I take off this wet dress.”
Suddenly the idea of a naked goddess Diana, complete with bow and arrows, forced its way into his ungentlemanly head. Forcing down his baser thoughts, he bolted the door and accepted the quilt. “Of course.”
“This is most awkward.”
He held the blanket up high enough that he couldn’t see through it. Cloth rustled on the other side. “It is better than freezing to death on the road tonight.”
Taking the quilt from him, she wrapped it around herself. Eyes like starlight filled with worry. “I’m not ungrateful, Mr. Laurent. Your timing in picking me up could not have been better. I had planned to search for a hunter’s shack or some shelter for the night. This is far better. I only meant that taking one’s clothes off while a total stranger held a quilt up was quite awkward.”
“I knew what you meant. This has been quite an evening.” His laugh rolled out without warning. His stomach growled.
She laughed too. “What do you do, sir?”
“Since I don’t know your last name, you should call me Jacques. I invest in inventions and import goods.” He spooned some stew and reveled in the rich flavors and unexpected spice. English food was generally bland to his taste. “This is good.”
Crossing with one hand clutching the blanket, she sat and ate the stew as if it had been days since she’d eaten. Nothing about this woman added up. “What do you do, Diana?”
“Why would you assume I do anything? Ladies don’t have occupations.”
He slid the bowl with his remaining stew across to her.
After a brief hesitation, she devoured that as well before picking up her tea and sipping.
“I do not think you are like other ladies. I suspect you have a past that would be most interesting to hear about. Perhaps one day you will tell me what sent you out into the cold with nothing but a cloak and a shotgun.” Sipping his tea, he watched her expressionless face. She’d been scared when they were in the carriage, and she’d let her fear show. Now, in the warm inn with a full belly, she wore a mask of indifference that seemed well practiced.
“My circumstances are hardly your concern.” She put down the tea and slipped into the bed. Watching him with wide eyes that betrayed her mistrust, her mask slipped, and she looked like a lost child.
He wanted to give her comfort, but of course, she was right. “No. If you would turn your head, I would like to get out of these wet clothes and put on something dry. I would have offered you a shirt, but you seem content with that mummification you created.”
She did as he wished, a dark blush creeping into her cheek.
Once he was in a dry pair of trousers and a blouse, he hung their clothes over the chair and the two hooks in the wall near the fire, so they would perhaps dry by morning. Stoking the fire, he watched her and tried to decide if she would rob him in his sleep or slit his throat.
With a sigh, he doused the lamp and pulled two blankets from the trunk. He made a pallet on the floor near the hearth, lay down, and put his hands behind his head. If she was a murderess and thief, so be it. He was too tired to worry.
“Jacques?”
“Yes, Diana?” His heart sped up at the rasp of her voice in the darkness.
“Can I trust you?” Her back was to him, leaving him to wonder at her expression. Her inflection told him nothing of her motives.
It was doubtless the oddest evening he’d ever spent. “I believe you can. I try to live honorably.”
“I’m afraid.” The first quaver touched her voice.
His gut twisted with worry over what scared this complete stranger. He didn’t know her, but he’d formed an immediate attachment, which he couldn’t explain. Sitting up, he turned toward the bed. “How can I help?”
Rolling over, she faced him. The small fire revealed tears trailing down her cheeks, leaving blotchy streaks. “You don’t want to know what scares me?”
