He nodded. “Think you can stay out of trouble until then?”
She stuck out her tongue at him.
Miles gave the room one last look of disdain and walked out. “Lock the door,” he called back before disappearing into his room.
Susanna sat down on the edge of the bed and surveyed the mess. It was much like her life right now. She had embarked on this trip with high hopes but was no closer to figuring out where James Marlow was then when she had started. She had been the cause of Sam getting hurt. She had caused her friends to worry. Miles had been poking holes in her plans from the moment he’d showed up. Perhaps she was on a fool’s errand, but she needed to see it through. She needed to do something good. Something that didn’t end in disaster.
Miles had been so adorable when he was drunk last night. And today, he had shocked her down to her bones with that kiss. All of which added to the whir of confusion in her mind. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to Miles Weston. She would surely muck up their friendship just like she had mucked up things with Stuart. What she needed was to clear her head. She needed to ride.
First things first. Get changed, then put all her clothes back into the trunk, and with them she would pack away her new feelings of attraction. Hawksridge was not her pirate king and it was foolish to get distracted by his kisses. Then she would go downstairs and see if Mr. Maddox would let her show off the new trick she had been working on.
Chapter Twenty
Miles strode outof the inn’s back door and through a pleasant garden courtyard to the lane that he was told ran into town. The innkeeper had given him directions to Salisbury’s coaching inn where the mail coaches came through. He had a letter for Daniel tucked into his jacket that would let his brother know their plans to travel to Weymouth Bay. He lengthened his stride, relishing the opportunity to stretch his legs.
He soon came to a large field where the circus had created a hive of activity. Maddox barked out orders to his crew as they set up a large ring, using wooden boards shaped to fit together like puzzle pieces. Miles kept walking past, the last thing he wanted was to get waylaid by the colorful cast of characters that made up Maddox’s troupe. He still felt the aftereffects of last night’s whiskey. Had that only been last night?
He never imbibed that much. Not since he had been a young buck anyway, carousing around London with his brother and their friends. But when Daniel had gotten into that duel, it had stopped him in his tracks. His father had had a stern talk with both of them about his expectations for their future. Daniel had been sent off to travel on the continent and Miles had spent most of his time learning how to run the many properties that would become his responsibility. Sober and serious, he knew that’s what people thought of him…what Susanna thought of him.
Miles kept walking. The town was larger than Marbury. He wound his way down a long, curved lane lined with shops. At the end, as directed, he headed left and easily found the coaching inn. He quickly made his way through a stable yard full of carriages and inside. The inn was much like any other; to the left of the front door was the postmaster’s office. “Has today’s mail coach come through?” he asked.
“No, sir. Expecting it any time.” The man behind the counter lowered his newspaper.
“I have something for Hertfordshire.”
“If it’s going east, not to London, might take an extra day, all the mail has to go through Hadden first.”
Miles nodded and handed the letter off to the man. It was nothing less than what he expected. If he were not in the middle of nowhere, he could have sent his letter with a servant to his brother’s home. Well, it wasn’t a rush. Stepping back outside, he found that he didn’t want to return to the inn, so he walked down the lane in the opposite direction, enjoying the sun shining warm on his face. The path led away from town and through a grove of apple trees. Dappled sunlight made patterns on the packed dirt and grass.
He never just strolled with no specific place to be, and was strangely soothed by the lack of purpose in his meandering, Miles sucked in a deep breath of fresh air and tried to take notice of his surroundings. Birdsong echoed through the grove and even softer he could hear the buzz of bees. The sweet smell of overripe fruit fallen to the ground permeated the air. The trees shaded his path and kept him from feeling too warm even in his jacket. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. This is exactly what he needed. To get away from his overly scheduled life. To have space to breath and think.
“Get down here right now!” a feminine voice rang out disturbing his newfound harmony.
“I’m not going to that witch’s house,” a younger voice retorted.
Miles picked up his pace toward the voices. As he hit a bend in the lane, he spotted a woman with her hands on her hips staring up into the branches of a tree. An apple sailed out of the tree and hit her on the shoulder.
“I’m going to tell Mama, you brat,” she shouted.
Miles approached her cautiously, looking up to see who was assailing her from the branches. “Madam, may I be of some help?”
The woman turned, her cheeks red. “No, thank you, my situation is not dire. It’s just my younger brother is being stubborn and refuses to come down.”
A small face peered out from the child’s leafy perch. “I won’t go see her anymore. She is a horrible witch!”
His sister tipped her face back up. “Young man, having music lessons is a privilege. You should be grateful and certainly not malign your teacher in such a way.” She turned back to Miles with a shake of her head, her hands rose and fell in frustration.
He stepped forward to stand under the tree. Employing his sternest voice, he called up to the boy. “Young man, come down immediately and apologize to your sister. That is no way to treat a lady.”
A loud snort came from above. “She’s no lady, she’s just my sister.”
Then an apple flew from the tree straight for his head. Miles caught it easily with one hand. He stepped closer to where the boy hid. Looking up he realized that if he reached up, he could snag the boy’s dangling leg and haul him down with little effort. It was a very small leg; the lad couldn’t be more than six or seven. He could feel the child’s gaze. Miles took a bite of the apple in his hand. “You know I never cared for my music lesson either.”
The boy’s face appeared. “You didn’t?”
“No, my brother was always so much better at playing the pianoforte and I hated that I couldn’t keep up.”
The boy’s bottom lip jutted out. “I’m no good either. My teacher always yells at me.”
