There was some traffic on this fine morning. Not much. A farmer with a full cart and whatseemed a dozen children. A rider who was too intent on his own journey to even glance at them.
The wrecked Mail Coach was closer in distance than Elise had supposed. The blisters on her feet hurt, but she managed to walk with some semblance of grace. Of course, it called for all of her concentration. Pride would not let her show the pain she experienced.
“What do we do now?” Elise asked as they approached the wreckage.
“Wait,” he answered.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.” He frowned. “We wait until the Mail comes or word reaches someone about the wreck.”
Elise walked over to where a piece of the wooden boot of the coach jutted out, and sat.
She no longer worried about covering her head with the cloak. The morning air felt good. It was clean and fresh after the storm.
He leaned against the side of the coach and looked down the road as if willing the Mail to come. That is when Elise noticed his eyes. Gray. A light, silvery gray, one with a very purple bruise around it. And he had dimples, deep lines bracketing the corners of his mouth beneath the scruffiness of his whiskered jaw.
Those attributes along with a strong nose and broad shoulders that appeared as if they could handle any difficulty made him a rather impressive specimen of a man. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed earlier.
Or perhaps she had. Hadn’t her body reacted to how solid he was? How completely masculine?
She reminded herself that she could trust he knew his worth. Most men did. They truly believed women should prostrate themselves at their feet. Even the barrel-shaped, the lisping, and the smelly ones. She and her sisters had marveled over their confidence. Males seemed to be born with it. Perhaps that was why men thought they should lead.
The dog jumped up on the wood beside her. She reached over and stroked his coat. “You are a handsome beast,” she cooed softly. “And you saved us.” She received a nudge on her hand, a signal the dog wished her to keep telling him how wonderful he was.
Mr. Ruffian removed his leather hat and ran a hand through his hair. It was a dark brown, a rich color. She didn’t want to trust him. Or to like him—
“So, what is your name?” she heard herself ask.
He looked over as if surprised she was speaking to him. “Oh? You are finally interested?”
“Well, I can’t keep thinking of you as Mr. Ruffian.” And then she said, because she should, “I’m sorry I struck you. I was asleep. There were spiders.”
“Hmm, spiders.”
“Dozens of them,” she assured him. “Maybe hundreds.” She paused. “Does your eye hurt?”
“Unrelentingly,” he answered, catching her off guard—once again. She’d assumed he would say something polite such as,No, my lady, it doesn’t bother me at all.He didn’t.
Seeing her surprise, he shook his head. “Don’t fret. It will serve as a reminder to not startle you awake.”
He would not have an opportunity in the future. Their time together would soon be at an end and they would go their separate ways, as they should. The realization made her feel almost warm toward him.
“So, your name?” she pressed.
“Kit.”
“What of your surname?”
“Kit is fine, Elise.” Hadn’t that been the way she’d answered him?
She wished she’d given him another name. Perhaps Mary or Jane. Something common.
Like Molly?
He’d teased her with the name Molly and it had worked. She’d told him the truth of her identity. She’d best be more wary. He was proving to be sharper than she had expected.
Frustrated with herself, Elise pulled the hood up over her head. That is when she noticed what was left of her straw bonnet. It was matted into the mud. The sight made her sad. She’d spent hours over the past few years refashioning itwith ribbons and feathers, wearing it almost every day. It had been important to her.
