Page 58 of The Hired Hero
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Davenport muttereda curse under his breath. “I had engaged a private conveyance and a fast team, then the damn ostler suddenly informed me that an important personage had precedence over my request.” He pulled a face. “Unfortunately, neither my person nor my purse could argue with him. We have no choice but the mail coach.”
Caroline avoided looking at him. “I’m sure it will make little difference, milord. And perhaps it is even better this way. I should imagine the chances of being noticed are slimmer if we remain in a crowd.”
He merely grunted, but she noticed that his hand rarely left the pocket that contained the pistol. The earl was certainly keeping his guard up, she thought glumly—and not least of all against her. As the heavy coach rumbled into the courtyard, he urged her forward.
“For heaven’s sake, keep your hat pulled down and don’t utter a word during the trip,” he whispered as they pushed toward the cluster of people waiting to squeeze into the dark interior.
There was little danger of that. It seemed they had had precious little to say to each other since leaving the shelter of the stable.
She found herself wedged in between a country squire reeking heavily of scent and a merchant clutching a small parcel to his chest, as if he feared highwaymen would accost them at any moment. The earl took a seat directly opposite her, promptly dropped his head to his chest and began to snore.
Caroline closed her eyes as well, but she knew for her, sleep would be nigh impossible.
Drat the man!
Did he have windmills in his head? How could he imagine she didn’t trust him or thought of him as some sort of lackey? That wasn’t it at all!
As she reflected on what, exactly, had kept her silent, honesty compelled her to admit it was fear. She had come to value the feisty camaraderie that had developed between them, with none of the artificial constraints of Society coloring their actions. Why, she even found that she liked his curses and his irritable moods…indeed, she liked that he passed her a bottle of brandy, that he told her she looked a fright.
He treated her like a real person, not some porcelain doll devoid of brains or grit.
All because he thought her a woman of no consequence.
Caroline found herself loath to give that up. Only Lucien had ever treated her like an equal.
But once the earl knew the truth of who she was, that bond was likely to prove as chimerical as the lightness in his eyes. Of course, he would find out soon enough, but, like a child clinging to the last shreds of a cherished blanket, she would hold on to what they had as long as she could.
There was another matter too. She swallowed hard as a different sort of fear crept up into her consciousness. She had learned he was a man of honor. What if he felt compelled to offer for her when he learned of her rank? There could be no question as to whether their intimacies had thoroughly compromised her in the eyes of Society. The very thought of what had taken place brought on a rush of color, and she needed no admonition from the earl to keep her face buried in the folds of her jacket.
Ruined.
Funny, but she did not feel ruined in the least. Or sorry.
In her mind, there was nothing shameful in what had happened—the blush rose more from the realization that, in fact, she had wanted very much for him to take her to bed. Perhaps her cousin was right in pronouncing her a hopeless hoyden. She had always rebelled against the rules, and this was no exception—though, again, she couldn’t begin to put into words why her actions felt right, not wrong. Never had she dreamed of allowing a gentleman to take such liberties with her. But things had happened in such a way that it was almost as if, with his intimacies, Davenport had been giving a part of himself, rather than taking something from her.
But what was the earl thinking?
He had been undeniably angry on learning she was an innocent. Thankfully, discussion along those lines had been deflected by the concerns about their current situation. But she had no illusions that the matter had been laid to rest. The flicker of emotion in his eyes told her that more eloquently than any words could. If she were a mere nobody, it might be easier to convince him that he had no obligation. As she was a duke’s daughter, the matter was infinitely more complicated.
Suddenly, her throat tightened.
Did he think her truly sunk in the mud for allowing his caresses? Or worse, had he taken a disgust to her? Perhaps his haunted look had stemmed from the fact that he felt hopelessly trapped between his sense of honor and the thought of being leg shackled to such a wanton and willful wife for the rest of his life. After all, he had made no secret as to his opinion of her behavior.
She was hardly the sort of lady a gentleman would wish to wed.
Caroline squeezed her eyes shut, more to cover the sting of tears than for any real hope that sleep would bring a welcome respite from such disquieting thoughts.
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“Open your peepers, lad.”A boot jostled against hers. “Let us climb down and stretch our legs while they change the horses.”
Caroline blinked in confusion.
Davenport jerked his head toward the door, impatient to quit the closeness of the crowded coach. Still groggy with sleep, Caroline hauled herself up and stumbled down the steps. Had he not caught her arm, her wobbly legs might have failed to keep her upright.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice as he guided her to the far end of the yard. “You look bloody awful.”
