Wiping his hands on his breeches, he quickly surveyed the room. “We head north for now. But first I want to throw off our pursuers should they come here looking for us.”
“But I need to go south,” she protested.
“We’ll discuss it when we are safely away from here,” he said firmly. “Until then we go where I have planned.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hastily drawn map. Tearing it in half, he stuffed the remaining piece back in his pocket. He then held the corner to the candle and quickly blew out the flame when the paper lit. The result appeared as though the entire document had been burned to prevent anyone from discovering it. But on the charred remains was enough information to lead their pursuers in the wrong direction.
He glanced up at Isabella who was watching him, a mixture of disbelief and admiration on her face.
“Let’s go then,” he announced.
* * *
Isabella took his outstretched hand as he helped her up through the trap door. She wrapped the heavy coat tighter around her and shivered as the cold drizzle slipped down her neck. The gray overcast skies looked to be near bursting with rain. Frigid, wet rain.
Tiny pellets of ice intermixed with the rain struck her face and rapidly melted. She pulled her hat lower over her eyes. Lengthening her stride to keep pace with Merrick, she glanced anxiously around her, searching for some sign they were being followed.
The earl, too, was intent on his surroundings as they crossed the street and he hailed an oncoming hack. Once in the warmer confines of the carriage, Isabella leaned back in her seat and studied the hard lines of Merrick’s face.
Though she was abashed at her dismal outburst of emotion, she had been glad for his strength and support. She was more grateful, however, that he had said nothing. Just let her grieve then continue as if nothing had happened. And if truth be known, she felt a great deal lighter. The oppressive weight of her grief had bore down on her until she feared suffocation.
Sensing her perusal, he lifted his gaze from the window and returned her frank appraisal. For the space of a long moment, the two stared at one another across the carriage.
She wanted to trust him. Wanted it very badly. More, perhaps, than she should. But the logical side of her, the one so embittered over the loss of her family, screamed that she couldn’t trust anyone.
She was tormented by thoughts of it all being an elaborate scheme to get her to trust him so that he could recover the map from her. Or worse, use her to gain control of her country.
Her eyes drank in every detail of his face as if begging for some sign that she could trust her instincts. His dark hair was carelessly combed to one side of his face, dipping rakishly over one temple. The waves running from front to back testified to his habit of raking a hand through his hair just above his ear.
On cue, he reached up and shoved his hand through the hair at his temple, pushing it behind his ear for the short term. His dark eyes returned her gaze, warming her entire body. She blinked but continued her assessment of him.
His lips weren’t overly full, but he had a wide, generous mouth, and when he chose to smile, it transformed his entire face from grave seriousness to boyish charm. His nose fit his entire image. It didn’t dominate his face, but it was slightly crooked. A testament to the life he led, no doubt. Only the most discerning eye would even notice, but she found it fascinating.
“Your nose. How did you break it?” she found herself asking.
“I beg pardon?”
His eyes blinked, and his brow furrowed.
She touched her own nose. “How did you break it?”
He smiled ruefully. “I shouldn’t be surprised you took notice.”
He shifted in his seat as if he were suddenly uncomfortable with her scrutiny. “My face made the unfortunate mistake of meeting with a much larger fist.”
“Ouch,” she murmured in sympathy.
“And you say the English are prone to understatement,” he said in a dead-pan voice.
She laughed.
“You should do that more often,” he said, his voice turning serious.
It was her turn to look at him in puzzlement.
“Laugh,” he explained. “You have a beautiful laugh.”
Sadness replaced her moment of merriment. “As of late, I’ve had little to laugh about.”
