Jenni Fletcher - The Viscount’s Veiled Lady

‘In the yard you said that you had to go or you’d be late.’ He cleared his throat again, more forcefully this time. ‘Late for what?’

‘Oh, I forgot. I meant for the tide. The sea will be up to the cliffs in another hour. If I don’t hurry, then I won’t make it back to Whitby before dark.’

‘You mean you walked here along the beach?’

‘Yes.’ She seemed nonplussed by the question. ‘It’s not far, but I really ought to hurry.’

‘It’s a good mile and I doubt you could hobble as far as the village tonight. You shouldn’t put any weight on that foot for a few days.’

‘A few days ?’

She muttered a swear word and his lips twitched in amusement. He couldn’t have put it any better himself.

‘Well, Miss Webster...’

‘I’m sorry.’ Her expression turned guilty. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘I’ve heard worse. I believe I actually said worse earlier.’

‘Oh, yes—’ her expression cleared again ‘—so you did.’

‘Then I suppose I can’t blame you for running away. Between that and my lack of clothing, I must have appeared like some kind of monster.’

‘I thought you were a convict.’ She dug her teeth down hard into her bottom lip, turning serious again. ‘But perhaps you might let me borrow your carriage? Just to take me to the outskirts of Whitby. I’ll make my own way from there.’

‘I don’t have a carriage, only horses, and you won’t be making your own way anywhere. I might not look like much of a gentleman, but I hope I still have better manners than that. I presume you can ride?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I’ll escort you home.’

‘No!’ She sounded positively alarmed. ‘I mean, there’s no need for you to put yourself out. I can go on my own.’

‘I’m sure you can, but I’d like to have my horse back afterwards.’

‘Oh...yes, of course.’ Her expression wavered uncertainly. ‘Then perhaps we could wait until dark and you might leave me in the street?’

He lifted his eyebrows, regarding her dubiously. ‘Embarrassed to be seen in my company, Miss Webster?’

‘No-o, but the truth is that my parents don’t know anything about my coming here. They’d think it was shockingly indiscreet for me to call on you.’

‘They’d have a point. It’s unfortunate that your sister doesn’t share their scruples, but it won’t be dark for another few hours. Won’t your parents be concerned if you’re not home before nightfall?’

‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head with conviction. ‘They’re used to me coming and going, and Lydia will cover for me, I’m sure, under the circumstances.’

‘Quite.’

He glanced down at his hand, surprised to find it still resting on her foot. He must have kept it there without thinking and now the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips was making him even more unsettled. Positively uncomfortable, in fact. Maybe his sister-in-law was right and he was starved of companionship. Not that this was the kind of companionship she’d likely had in mind. Even sitting so close to a woman now was making his collar feel uncomfortably restrictive. Or perhaps he was just used to wearing loose farm clothes. In either case, he ought to let go of Frances’s foot. Now that he’d bound the injury, he really shouldn’t still be touching her at all, especially when he was so acutely aware of the shapeliness of the legs beneath her petticoats. Except that pulling his hand away now would only draw more attention to it...

‘Lydia only wants to talk to you.’ Her voice sounded strangely breathless all of a sudden.

‘So she sent you with a request that I’ve already refused, twice, without either your parents’ permission or any care for your reputation?’

She shuffled in her chair, the movement of her foot beneath his fingertips causing an immediate, and this time unmistakable, reaction in his lower body.

‘I didn’t know that it was twice, but she said that she just wants to explain...about her marriage.’

He was actually glad to feel a rush of anger, dampening his other responses and finally giving him an excuse to pull his hand away. ‘You mean to explain why she married someone else within a month of my leaving? Can she explain that, Miss Webster? Or are you going to tell me it was just her way of grieving?’

‘She only wants...’

‘She wants a title!’

He hadn’t intended to shout, though he realised he must have as a heavy silence descended over the room, punctuated only by the sound of Meg’s panting as she lifted her head from her paws and looked curiously between them. Miss Webster herself didn’t say anything to either confirm or contradict his statement, only hunching her shoulders and dropping her gaze as if she wished she were somewhere else.

‘I apologise.’ He felt a stab of guilt for his outburst. ‘But you shouldn’t have come. Why did you? Just because she’s your sister and she asked you to?’

‘No...’ she kept her gaze fixed on the floor ‘...but I couldn’t refuse. I have my own secrets.’

‘And your sister knows them, but your parents don’t?’

She gave an imperceptible nod and he leaned backwards, mentally denouncing his former betrothed with a varied assortment of unchivalrous epithets. She might have been the last straw that had caused him to run away six years ago, but at that moment he was more than prepared to blame her for everything.

‘Very well, then, we’ll wait until dark if that’s what you want. After that, I’ll take you home out of sight of your parents and we’ll say no more about it. As for Lydia, you can tell her my answer is and will forever remain no. Whatever she has to say to me, I’ve no desire to hear it. She can keep her letters and explanations, Miss Webster. She’s put me off women for ever.’

Frances winced, gritting her teeth against the pain as Arthur helped her into a saddle. Fortunately, the farmyard had a mounting block or she didn’t think she could have managed even with his strong hands around her waist, guiding her upwards. For a big man, he was surprisingly gentle, but it was hard enough limping, never mind climbing on to a horse. Much as she hated to admit it, he’d been right. She could never have made it back to Whitby on her own.

‘Aren’t we leaving a bit early?’ She looked anxiously up at the sky. It was evening, but still as bright as midday. ‘I thought we were waiting for dusk?’

‘I have another engagement.’ He slid her injured foot into its stirrup before quickly mounting his own horse. ‘If you want to delay your return to Whitby, then you’ll need to accompany me.’

Frances looked across at him with trepidation. It appeared to be more of an ultimatum than a question and she wasn’t sure what answer to give anyway. They’d hardly spoken more than half-a-dozen words after he’d denounced her sister and, apparently, the rest of womankind with her, sounding even more bitter about Lydia than she’d expected, so much so that he’d practically denounced her as a fortune hunter. He could hardly have given his answer any more definitively, though she suspected that would probably change if he ever did find himself in the same room with her. Her sister’s personal charms rarely failed to achieve their desired result, though as to whether she’d get a chance to use them was another matter. Even if he hadn’t been quite so adamant, according to local gossip, Lord Scorborough rarely left his estate. Which made the fact that they were on their way to some kind of engagement doubly surprising.

Then again, Frances thought, able to study him more closely now that she had her veil pulled down firmly over her face again, perhaps she ought not to be surprised by anything he did any more. Nothing about him was what she’d expected, including his reaction to her facial scarring. For the first few dreadful moments it had felt like Leo all over again, with him recoiling in horror at the sight of her, but Arthur’s reason had been the very opposite of what she was used to. He hadn’t seemed repelled by the scar itself, only by her resemblance to Lydia. It made a refreshing change. Not many people commented upon that any more.