Chapter 27
I’m never sorry for much.And I abhor admitting when I’m wrong about something.I’m not saying I was, of course, just that I hate to admit it.
~From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh—Apr 1893
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Responding to the urgencyin his voice, Fiona thankfully didn’t think to question him but sprang into a sprint, lifting her skirts high as she went, but with her parasol also clutched in one hand, her petticoats kept slipping from her grasp.“Drop the bloody parasol!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
Aylesbury snorted and quickened his step.She kept pace with him as he accelerated, testing her limits.“Good girl.”
She didn’t speak but merely tossed him a dry look before she leapt ahead like a gazelle, daring him to keep up.God bless that love of the outdoors, he thought, as they gained ground and distance.Fiona’s natural athleticism and life on the Highlands outstripped the endurance of the Londoners who had done little more than breathe in the stale air of the city their entire lives.
A glance over his shoulder showed their pursuers losing ground.Still, despite her competitive spirit and the urgency of their situation, he could feel her energy flagging as their feet pounded against the cobbles.
“Can’t...breathe...”she panted, and he cursed the corset that bound her.Grabbing her hand, he jerked her around the corner at the next street.Choosing a door about halfway down the street, he pulled her to a halt and thrust her into the small shop.With any luck, when their pursuers finally made the street, they would assume she’d already turned the next corner and continue on.
He drew her away from the windows, watching and waiting.
If luck were not on their side, they would need to keep moving.Loosening the constricting tightness of his tie, he drew a deep breath and wished he could do the same for her.Fiona’s hand was pressed against her narrow waist as she sucked in one slow breath after another as deeply as she could while she paced deeper into the store.
She was a true athlete, he thought proudly.A real goer.He couldn’t have loved her more than he did in that moment.
“What a lovely little shop,” she said between breaths.“Did you see these gloves here, Harry?Aren’t they just divine?”
“We’re running for our lives here,” he reminded but couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice.
“Nonsense.”Her wide grin flashed in bright contrast to her flushed cheeks.“I’m running for my life.You’re simply tagging along.”
“Can I help you, my lord?My lady?”a sales clerk asked from behind them.
Even in their sweaty, bedraggled state, the clerk saw them for what they were.He eyed Fiona with perhaps more appreciation than the marquis, but Aylesbury thought that was understandable.Dewy with a light sweat, she fairly glowed, and the clerk flushed when she turned to him, blessing him with a bright smile.
“I beg your pardon, but is there a back door perhaps?”
“Of course, my lady, it’s in the back.”The clerk pointed to the rear of the building without taking his eyes from her.
“Of course, it is.”She smiled ironically but produced a dimple for the besotted clerk as she unpinned her hat and smoothed her hair.“You have a darling shop, and I would love to come back another time, but we’re in a bit of a rush.Do you mind?”
“No, no,” he hurried to assure her.Moving a stack of crates to the side, the clerk cleared a path for her.“This way, my lady.Right this way.”
“Thank you...?”
“Thomas, my lady.”
The dimple flashed again, and the clerk nearly tripped over his feet.
“Thomas, thank you,” Fiona cooed so flirtatiously that Aylesbury wanted nothing more than to knock Thomas’ teeth through the back of his skull...after he throttled his lady for flirting so.“You are so kind to help.”
“Not at all, my lady!”Thomas stammered, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“And if I might ask, if you would be so kind to...shall we say, misdirect anyone who might come in looking for us?”she continued, batting her lashes as they reached the door.“Oh, and would you mind holding back those darling blue kid leather gloves as well?”
“I shall be happy to, my lady.”
“You’re very sweet,” she added, patting the young man’s cheek as she passed.
