“All right,” Rebecca said. “The boys and I will take a short walk then.”
“Don’t go far,” he said sharply. Not only did he oppose unnecessary risk, he usually adhered to a strict schedule. He didn’t expect now to be any different. “I expect we’ll be ready to shove off within ten minutes.”
~~~
Rebecca led the boys halfway back down the hill. “What do you propose we do now?” She directed her question to Oliver since he seemed the only one willing to talk. “And what was that business in giving different names?” She lowered her voice. “He’s likely going to head south rather than west. Without even going through Somerset.”
Oliver shifted from one foot to the other, kicking at the dirt and it hit her.
It hit her like custard in the face. She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a pursed stream of air. “You don’t live in Somerset, do you?” She was not normally so gullible.
“Let us off at the next stop—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You, yourself, said you couldn’t be sure that blackguard, Finch Cromwell, wasn’t after you. No. You’ll stay with me until I’m ready to leave Dorchester. In the meantime, you can tell me exactly where you do live.”
Oliver’s lips firmed into a tight line.
Something softened inside her. “Oliver?” she said gently.
“Lady Rebecca. It’s time to leave, we are losing light. Things have a way of turning hazardous after nightfall.” Ryleigh’s rich commanding tones echoed through the valley.
Relief covered both Oliver’s and Owen’s small features.
What the devil weren’t they telling her? “This isn’t over,” she said, urging them back up the hill. “I’ll get the truth out of you yet.” She muttered this under her breath. If there was one thing Rebecca knew about herself, it was that she was a formidable foe, and Oliver had met his match.
Four
Rebecca strode into the private dining room of the Flower’s Bottom several hours later. The boys and Serena were settled for the night, and she was famished. She would eat and return to her chamber as quickly as possible. If Owen had another nightmare, she wished to be there for him.
Ryleigh stood at one end of the chamber next to a grate with a cozy fire blazing. She owed him a great debt and she did not care for being in debt to others. Especially, someone so powerful. Most especially with the Duke of Ryleigh.
He had conferred with the proprietor and the stable master of The Wild Rose where she’d left Barrett to await a new carriage wheel. She’d attempted to send Ryleigh on his way so she could wait with Barrett, but Ryleigh had absolutely refused, insisting she and the boys continue on their way with him. Ryleigh, like it or not, had the influence to crush her. And she wouldn’t put it past him to do so after that fiasco seven years ago.
She hated that her lips could still tingle after all this time. It downright infuriated her. In her opinion, influential men were too pushy, and not so useful for women or children or others in need. His idea of what happened years ago was considerably different than her own.
She needed to rid herself of Ryleigh but she was stuck. That blackguard Finch could still be after them despite Oliver’s assurances that he was not.
“Everyone is settled, I take it,” Ryleigh said, strolling over to a lavishly set table for such a humble inn. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to her.
She’d been tempted to order food to her room and eat with Serena and her charges, but her pride refused tonotlet her face him. “Yes, thank you. Everyone is settled.” Unfortunately, there was still the little matter of Owen not saying a word. Something that weighed heavily on her mind.
He pulled out a chair for her, and having no excuse to decline, she took the seat.
The duke lowered across from her and snapped his serviette with strong, bared hands. The serviette disappeared below the edge of the table.
Rebecca followed suit, laying hers across her lap.
The air around him stopped.
She felt as if there were a filled chamber pot in the corner of the room and that neither wanted to be the first to address the issue of something so odious. The idea of ignoring an obvious topic bothered her. She was not the sort to shy from the uncomfortable. “What?”
He let out a sigh. “Lady Rebecca, I realize we are not on intimate terms, but there truly is no need to stand on such formality.”
She stared at him.What was he talking about?
He lifted his fork and indicated it in the direction of her gloved hands. “You have no need to stand on such ceremony with me. If it’s any comfort, I still consider you a green girl barely out of the schoolroom. There’s no need to wear your gloves at dinner.”
His condescending tone sent outrage reeling through her. She wasnotashamed of her scars, she vowed, even as fire blazed up her neck and into her face. “I’ll have you know I’m five and twenty,” she said through gritted teeth. With grinding determination, she tugged on each glove, securing it further and picked up her spoon and dipped it in her soup.
