That stopped Flint where he stood. Not at all the answer he'd expected. Billy judged everyone he met on their relationship with horseflesh.
Billy gave his head an odd shake that passed judgment and wonder. “Never sat a horse in her life, I'm guessin'. Refuses to let it stop her.”
There it was then, Flint thought as he watched the bow-legged little man head for the stables. The ex-jump jockey valued bottom. Flint just wished he knew how Miss Chambers had gained the enmity of Mrs. Windom, who had exiled her to the maid's room.
But those were matters for later. Right now, he had to decide how he was going to get Miss I-Deserve-Better Chambers back.
She did, too. She had fire in her, that girl. She had more spine than many of the soldiers he'd served with. She was going to need it.
At the hard crunch of gravel, Flint turnedto see Billy swing the prancing chestnuts around the front drive.
“I'll be after doin' the driving,” the groom informed Flint as he pulled the restive team to a halt
Flint swung up into the curricle and pushed Billy over. “You'll drive the day I'm dead. Which way did she head?”
“Jem went toward Gloucester.”
Flint chucked the reins and set the horses into motion. “Then so will we.”
Chapter 3
One coaching stopwas pretty much like another. The New Inn in Gloucester was no different. A half-timbered hostelry built around a high, wide archway that opened into the courtyard and stables, it was bustling, loud, and urgent. Ostlers laughed and yelled, running passengers juggled luggage and the remains of hastily-eaten meals, and the horses stomped and shook, setting their tack to jangling in the echoing yard.
Felicity should have been nervous. After all, she was a lone woman about to climb onto the outside seat of a northbound coach with at least half a dozen strangers, three of them men who kept casting her suggestive looks. But she had not reached her age without having to face a few unpleasantries, so she tucked herself onto the bench by the inn wall, her bag wrapped safely in her arms, and watched the world go by. She had just enough money to make it back to the school. Beyond that, it didn't matter.
And then a bright blue curricle pulled by two perfectly matched chestnuts swung expertly through the archway and pulled to a precise stop right next to the stage. Felicity almost groaned out loud. There was no mistaking the bearing of the top-hatted driver, or the anxious frown on the face of his smaller, more grizzled companion.
She looked around. Briefly considered taking flight. It would do no good, of course. The inn yard was completely enclosed, with the dozen or so people who hadn't already climbed on the stage just as riveted by the proceedings as she was. She had a feeling that if she tried to hide, they would just point her out. So, she sat still, her chin instinctively lifting, even as her hands trembled and her skin remembered his touch.
Lord Flint tossed his reins to Billy Burke and hopped off the vehicle, still frowning. Felicity frowned right back.
“Where do you think you're going?” he demanded.
She met his bright green gaze without flinching. “Home.”
“You mean back to that school. That's no home.”
“It is to me.”
And then he surprised her all over again. Instead of stalking up to loom his six-foot-plus frame over her, he strolled over. Removing his curly-brim beaver, he sat right beside her on the bench and leaned his head back against the half-timbered wall.
“I began this all wrong, didn't I?” he asked with a wry smile that settled in Felicity's chest like warm sunshine and made her hands itch to touch him, drat him.
The fact that he laid the curly brim in his lap like a napkin made it all the worse. “You did.”
“But you're going to let me begin again.”
Blast him, now she wanted to smile. “I am?”
“Of course.”
“And why is that?”
“Because otherwise you will be forced to ride inside that stuffy stage for two days with enough breaks to swallow some gamy stew and share a bed with three other ladies who most certainly snore and scratch.”
She refused to look at him. “Not at all.”
He looked over. “Oh?”
