Isabelle Goddard - One Night with a Regency Lord - Reprobate Lord, Runaway Lady / The Return of Lord Conistone

‘You would have me accept that a girl who thinks nothing of throwing her lot in with a man she doesn’t know is worried that others will see her with him?’

‘I never threw my lot in with you. You forced me to accompany you.’

‘It doesn’t seem to have pained your sense of propriety too greatly.’

‘You can mock all you wish. You may not have a reputation to defend, but I do. I have a living to earn and I can’t afford to attract any gossip.’

She hoped that this was an inspired invention, but instead Gareth immediately pounced on her words and shredded them to pieces.

‘If you don’t know this man, then how could it affect your reputation one way or another?’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t know him,’ she conceded.

‘At last,’ he muttered grimly, ‘we’re getting near the truth or as near as we’re ever likely to with you.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Her anger sliced through the airless room.

‘Simply that you appear to have a rather slippery relationship with honesty.’

‘If we are to call each other liars, then you hardly fare better. What about the lies you told my fellow passengers on the stagecoach? That was blatant.’

‘And this isn’t?’

‘I was telling the truth when I said that I didn’t want to be discovered. But I am acquainted with this man. He’s an intimate of my young mistress’s brother and visits the house regularly. Although I was only a servant there and beneath his notice, I was worried he might recognise me.’

Gareth was silent, seeming to turn this over in his mind. She was unsure he believed her and, to deflect him further, renewed her attack.

‘I’ve told you how I know him, though I can’t understand why it’s any business of yours. Now perhaps you’ll tell me how you’re acquainted with him.’

He stared sightlessly through the window, once more in that overheated, overfurnished salon. The babble of rich men intent on their pleasure filled his ears, then the sudden silence, the incredulous stares, the shuffling of feet and finally the cool withdrawal of the well-bred from the social disaster in their midst.

Unrelenting, Amelie waited for his response, never taking her eyes from his face. Aware at last of her scrutiny, he raised his gaze to her, his expression bleak.

‘My acquaintance with him is very slight.’

His discomfort was palpable and she decided to press home her advantage.

‘You were quarrelling,’ she insisted. ‘You must know the man well enough to quarrel.’

‘He angered me. He invaded my room without permission and then wouldn’t leave.’

‘And that was enough for you to throw him down the stairs?’

‘A slight exaggeration? He’s a particularly obnoxious man and I didn’t care for his tone.’

‘If all that annoyed you was his attitude, you seem to have argued for a long time. Why didn’t you get rid of him earlier?’

‘You may not have noticed,’ he replied scathingly, ‘but I’ve sustained an injury. You fled on the instant and I was left alone to deal with him. In the end I got tired of his importuning and decided to risk the ankle. It hurt like hell, but I’m glad I assisted him on his way.’

He seemed to have regained something of his poise and his face no longer bore the icy expression that she’d come to dread. She was almost encouraged to tell him her true situation—almost, but not quite. To do so might jeopardise her plans entirely. If Gareth were the man she believed him to be, he would be impelled to pursue Glyde when he knew the full extent of his infamy. That would cause a scandal she would never live down. And if he were not that man, if he were untrustworthy, then she could be in real peril, in danger of kidnap or blackmail once he knew her true identity.

‘Does he know that you have a sister staying here?’ she ventured tentatively.

‘He knows,’ came the short reply.

‘You didn’t tell him my name?’

‘No,’ he said in a distant voice.

Her face wore such an expression of relief that his distrust once again blossomed.

‘Your fears are unfounded, my dear, your identity is safe.’ His tone was caustic. ‘I doubt that a man of Glyde’s position would consider it interesting or worthwhile to spread scandal about a maidservant, even if he knew her name.’

Euphoric at her escape, Amelie hardly noticed his tone and unwisely pushed onwards.

‘Thank you for not giving me away.’ And when he didn’t reply, she said again, ‘Thank you.’

‘Spare me the gratitude,’ he grated.

There was a pause as he looked her fully in the face, wondering how he’d allowed himself to be taken in by a girl so adept at lying. He’d begun to believe his judgement of womankind faulty, but it seemed that she shared generously in the attributes of her sisters—she was no different from any of the women who’d passed briefly through his life.

‘He thinks you’re my doxy,’ he said deliberately, then added with undisguised bitterness, ‘And who could blame him? You behaved like one—scuttling for cover instead of facing him honestly.’

The words came out of nowhere and fell like hammer blows on her ears. Scarlet with mortification, she ran from the room. How could he throw such a vile insult at her? Even if she were the simple maidservant she purported to be, she would be justified in protecting her good name. Yet by his reckoning she’d committed an unforgivable offence in running away; she was no better than Haymarket ware.

Once in her bedroom, she grabbed the faithful cloak bag and hurriedly packed the few items she still possessed. Then she ran down the stairs and out into the backyard. Will was busy washing the cobbles.

‘Will, come here,’ she called urgently to him. ‘Mr Wendover has taken a turn for the worst. He needs the medicine that the doctor prescribed in an emergency. I must get to Wroxhall immediately.’

Will rested from his labours, leaning on the broom with one hand and scratching his head with the other.

‘Mr Wendover were fine this morning. Happen he’ll come about again soon.’

‘No, Will, he won’t. He’s been feeling poorly for hours, but didn’t like to complain. Now his fever seems to have returned. We must get to Wroxall.’

‘I’d like to help, Miss Wendover,’ he said doubtfully, ‘but I’ll have to ask the missus. Mrs Skinner do like to know where I am. And she don’t like it if the horse is taken out without her permission.’

‘Mrs Skinner is out,’ Amelie lied recklessly, ‘and Mr Skinner, too. I saw them on their way to visit neighbours.’

Will shook his head slowly. The image of the Skinners visiting their neighbours was one he was having difficulty with.

‘Please help me,’ she pleaded urgently. ‘You don’t want Mr Wendover to become really ill again, do you?’

Will shook his head, but still looked unhappy.

‘It could be a matter of life or death, Will. I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.’

She felt guilty about deceiving him, but refused to think of his likely punishment for helping her. She had to get away. Unwillingly, Will put down his bucket and brush and went towards the trap, which stood backed into the corner of the rear yard. He carefully moved it into the centre and arranged the leather ties. The mare had then to be led from her stable and harnessed. For Amelie, desperate to leave the inn behind, every minute seemed an impossible age. One or the other of the Skinners could put in an appearance at any time and ruin her escape.

Will might be slow, but he was methodical. Finally the trap was ready and she jumped up on to the passenger seat.

‘Please make haste,’ she enjoined him as they turned out of the yard onto the highway.

Will, who had begun to enjoy his freedom from cobble washing and enter into the spirit of the adventure, whipped the placid bay into something approaching a trot. They were very soon out of sight of the inn and she sighed with relief. She never wanted to see Gareth Wendover again. His words flung at her so coldly and dismissively had finally cut whatever cord existed between them.