Which drew Mr. Bateman’s now cunning blue gaze back to the carriage her brother in law had allotted for Aubrey’s journey, along with Mr. Daniels.
“I take it you intend to travel to London in that contraption?” He asked her, one brow raised.
Aubrey bit her lip. “It is not for sale.”
Upon which he laughed, that soft, mocking, and yet sensually beguiling sound that persisted in stirring unwanted sensations inside of her—despite the fact that he’d so far only used it in order to laugh at her predicaments.
“Not what I have in mind,Princesse. But consider this. I’m willing to repair your wheel in exchange for a ride to London. I’ll also do the driving, this evening, as your man is in no condition to safely do so.”
Aubrey’s gaze shifted to the opening of the stable, wondering if she could convince any of the grooms she’d noticed earlier to repair the wheel.
“Otherwise,” He lifted one side of his mouth in something of a smirking grin. “I doubt very seriously either of us is going anywhere. Perhaps we can all bed down together on a bale of straw?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She snapped. Who was this man that he thought he could say such things to a lady he’d only just met? Or any lady, for that matter!
And yet, he seemed to be her best option in that moment. She studied him again, this time trying to get past his outlandishly striking good looks. “You aren’t a murderer, are you?”
He glanced around the room, grinning that same foolish grin he’d sent her through the window. “Who, me? Do I look like one?”
Not reassuring at all.
Aubrey glanced again at the broken wheel, almost as though she could repair it magically by staring at it, at the same time, a bitter wind whipped its way through the wide-open doors, reminding her that spring wasn’t quite here yet and the night would be cold.
“What’s it going to be,Princesse?”
“Oh, bother, it’s going to have to be you, I guess.” She conceded. “But if we’re going to travel together, I insist you cease laughing at me. It’s rude.”
Upon which he nodded in agreement and then bowed. “Chance Bateman, at your service,Princesse. And you are…?”
“Mrs. Ambrosia Bloomington.”
“Not aPrincesse?” He slid her a sideways glance which she, for some unknown reason, felt from the top of her head all the way down to her toes.
“Not a princess,” she confirmed.
Chapter 2
Aubrey
Less than an hour later, wrapped in woolen coat and scarf, Aubrey sat atop the driver’s box, Mr. Bateman at her side, effortlessly flicking the reins as they turned out of the muddied yard. He’d changed out the wheel with no assistance whatsoever and Aubrey had secretly marveled at the clever contraption he’d devised in order to do so.
And the way his muscles rippled beneath his waistcoat and shirt.
If she could forget such thoughts, she mightn’t be so utterly aware of his proximity. It was almost as though lightning shot through her whenever his elbow brushed against hers, or she found herself sliding closer to his thighs when the carriage hit a bump.
The trees along the way cast long shadows on the road before them, and she could already make out a few stars in the east. Hopefully the next inn wasn’t too far distant. Her adventure was becoming far more perilous than she’d bargained for.
By the time the vehicle had been repaired, Mr. Daniels had passed out completely. Mr. Bateman had said they could either leave him at the inn, in which case Aubrey would be alone with this handsome stranger, or they could load Mr. Daniels into the coach. Aubrey could most definitely not leave her driver behind. An absurd suggestion! Besides, she’d prefer to have a witness along, in case Mr. Bateman did, in fact, turn out to be a murderer.
After considerable deliberation, Aubrey’s unexpected traveling companion, of dubious character, assisted the coachmen into the interior of the carriage. She could either travel inside with her inebriated driver or ride atop the box with Mr. Bateman.
Of course, he’d chuckled when she’d indicated she’d prefer the later.
At the very least, Aubrey reasoned with herself, riding outside, she could be certain he’d not take her in the wrong direction. It would be just her luck to have picked up some escaped prisoner or rogue highwayman and have him drive her to his hideout in the woods so that he could ravage her. She shivered at such a wayward thought.
“I must admit,” he broke the silence between them, sliding a sideways glance in her direction while rubbing at his unshaven chin. “I find it most unusual for a young woman to be traveling to London on her own. Isn’t Mr. Bloomington concerned about your welfare?”
“Mr. Bloomington is six feet underground.” She announced frankly.
