Page 11 of One Night to Remember
All three boys blushed in unison.
“Not a stranger,” spluttered one.
“He already knows,” blurted another.
“Oh, for the love of…” With a breathtakingly unladylike muttered curse, the owner of the shapely ankles and lacy pantalettes wriggled out from beneath the Duke of Colehaven’s family coach.
Striking dark eyes glared out at him from a beautiful heart-shaped face. Silky coils of dark brown hair dipped from a crooked, oil-stained mobcap. Her well-tailored dress might have been the equal of any day gown belonging to the Quality…were it not for its horrifically frayed hems, unpatched holes, and impressive collection of enough grease stains to hide whatever had once been the fabric’s intended pattern.
One dusty hand clutched the neck of a worn leather satchel not unlike Giles’s own. In her other ungloved hand was a large iron wrench.
From the expression on her face, she was as prepared to wield it as a weapon as she was to use it as a tool.
Had he thought her presence mysterious before? She was now a full-blown enigma.
“Whoareyou?” he breathed.
“Stable lass,” she said briskly, as if those two words came close to resolving all his unanswered questions.
“Stable lass?” he repeated, tasting the unfamiliar words as they tripped from his tongue.
“Easy to understand. Stablelads…” She pointed at the three boys with the end of her wrench, then turned it toward her chest. “Stablelass. There. We’ve met. Good day.”
“I…” He turned to the lads, half-expecting to hear a chorus of protestingNo, definitely not, no stable lasses here, sir.
Instead, they stared back at him wide-eyed and pasty-cheeked, as if their deepest, most heartfelt wish was that they’d never allowed him to inspect their master’s curricle after all.
Giles turned back to Stable Lass. If this was her place of employment, then he had no business interfering with her work. Then again, if this was her place of employment, the stable boys would have had no reason to lie about her presence or her purpose.
Something was definitely up. Giles narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He valued Colehaven too much to turn a blind eye while mischief was being committed.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
She dropped her wrench back into her satchel as if she was already bored with the encounter. “Do you want to test me, O great and powerful Curricle King?”
Bloody right, he did. She was beautiful and defiant and fascinating, and he’d met her crawling out from under a carriage with a wrench in her hand. The duke had a right to know if she was trespassing.
Giles opened his mouth.
She sighed, and began to point her index finger about the carriage house. “Barouche, landau, cabriolet, coach, and modified curricle.”
A fair enough parlor trick. “Many people—”
“Can name the types and styles of carriages? Very well. Let us see what pieces comprise a modern conveyance.” She began demonstrating the parts of the closest barouche, from the folding calash top to each nut and washing.
Giles snapped his jaw closed. He’d seen apprentices who couldn’t name half the components that comprised a carriage, much less explain the precise function of each part.
“Not enough?” asked the stable lass with faux innocence. She retrieved a hammer and chisel from her satchel and turned to the curricle he’d been inspecting. “Let’s take this one apart, then put it back together. I’ll begin with the—”
“So you’re a stable lass,” Giles said in a rush, interrupting her before the duke’s prized—and, yes, subtly modified—curricle was in a hundred pieces on the sawdust-covered floor.
Even if such a shocking event would have cost both of them their posts, part of Giles wished he could have let her do so, just to watch her work.
“Why didn’t you just say you worked here?” He tipped his hat to indicate he came in peace and meant no harm. “I’m Giles Langford.”
She arched her brows. “I know.”
He waited.
