“You can just lace that through the bottom row again.”
Through the gossamer fabric of my chemise, warm fingers worked at the edge of my corset. He fumbled, slipping once, twice, before I heard the unmistakable sound of the lacing pulling through the eyelet.
“Now you can just slipknot it.”
“I don’t?—”
“Oh, make a loop with the extra and slip it under the last row, then pull it through.” I felt him scramble for a moment before making some sort of knot. “Tuck the extra under?”
Fingers brushed against my back as he followed my instructions. When I turned back to him, I found him still wearing that unnamable expression.
“I’m quite sure I mucked that up. But it should hold.”
“You did well. Do you mind helping with the dress as well? It buttons in the back.”
He merely nodded, a furrow etched between his brows.
Carefully, I shrugged into the petticoat and gown, only knocking my knee against the opposite seat once. Mr. Summers managed the fabric-covered buttons of my floral day dress without instruction.
Satisfied with his efforts, he yanked his coat free from the door, bathing us in the setting sun. Instead of donning it again, he balled it up and plopped it onto his lap.
He studied the front of the carriage with more interest than I’d ever given anything, his throat bobbing under the edge of his cravat. In the newfound light, I noticed that the tip of the one ear I could see was bright crimson.
“Thank you.”
In response, I received only a curt nod and a grunt. Apparently, he found the crack along the front wall too fascinating to spare me a glance.
I had only just settled back against the seat when the carriage creaked to a stop.
Before either of us could move, Alfie’s face filled the open window.
“The two of ye finished with whatever ye were getting up to in here? We’re at the inn.”
“We’re not—yes,” Mr. Summers replied.
“Stepping inside?”
I nodded at the exact same moment Mr. Summers shook his head. He refused to so much as turn toward me, and I was forced to climb over him to escape once Alfie unstrapped the door. My reticule smacked against his knee in punishment.
Rory appeared at my side and tucked her elbow into mine as soon as I stepped out. She peered inside only to take one look at Mr. Summers before laughing. “Dinnae worry yer head. I’ll keep her out of trouble for ye.”
Mr. Summers shot her a look—yet another one I couldn’t interpret—that had her tossing her head back in a full belly laugh.
“I think ye broke the poor lad,” she said as we walked into the inn.
“I’ve no idea.”
“Oh lassie, if ye dinnae ken, I’ll not explain it.”
Seven
OLD BELL, ENFIELD—APRIL 10, 1817
KIT
As soon asthey were out of sight, I allowed my head to hinge back and clunk dully against the back wall with a satisfying thump.
She still hadn’t confirmed we were bound for Scotland, but she’d also never denied it outright. Since I was more than positive her aim wasn’t Gretna Green, we were most likely going to her brother.
