“She ran away,” Gwendolyn shouted, running into the room. In one hand she held the carved money box where she kept the sisters’ funds. In another, she waved a piece of paper. “She left a note. She’s returning to Ireland.”
And then Gwendolyn said something that put a chill down Dara’s spine. “We need Mr. Steele.Now.”
Chapter Seven
Many a ship is lost within sight of the harbor.
Irish proverb
The traffic on the still wet road was lighter than Kit had expected, perhaps because of the storm the night before.
A few carts and wagons passed them by, but there was no room to take on two more passengers. Kit asked anyway... because after the first fifteen minutes of walking, Elise began to limp again. The bindings were not a solution.
To her credit, she didn’t complain. She lopsidedly muddled along, her jaw tight and her gaze stoic. When he suggested they might rest a moment, she shook her head and charged on without him—even though there were snails who moved faster than she could.
Pride. Stubborn pride. She seemed full of it. However, it was something he understood all too well.
Still, he had no desire to see the chit crippled.
He grew excited when, after an hour of walking, a hired coach came rolling upon them, moving at a quick pace through puddles and slowly drying mud. Noticing there was only one passenger, Kit began running beside it, calling up to the driver, “Sir? Sir, would you please offer us a ride? It is for a woman. She needs help, sir.”
The driver didn’t respond. Instead, he slapped the horses forward and the passenger—thesolepassenger—lowered the shade so he could pretend he hadn’t heard Kit’s request.
What the devil was the matter with people?
Or would he have done the same? He liked to believe he wouldn’t have been so namby-pamby as to ride in a vehicle on such a fine day. He would have been on horseback, preferably Dodger, the blood bay gelding he had raised from a colt.
Then again, if he had been in a vehicle, the old Kit, Kit the Duke, might have driven on. He had rarely looked at the passing countryside or considered the plight of others even when he was on horseback and he could see the people plainly in front of him. No, he’d focused on himself and reaching his destination as quickly as possible, just like this passenger.
Seeing that the coach wasn’t going to slow, he came to a halt with a few choice words and then turned to Elise and Tamsyn. Ever since Elise had started limping, the dog had steadfastly walked by her side.
“He wouldn’t stop. Self-righteous old codger,” Kit complained.
“I wouldn’t stop for you either,” Elise answered.
“What?”
She had reached him and now determinedly limped past him but not before giving him a cool look. “You attacked the driver. You chased him.”
On her behalf.Kit fell into step beside her. “Attack? I merely asked him for a ride. We could have sat on the tailboard and not been a bother to him.”
“Thatwould have been enjoyable,” she murmured, meaning the exact opposite.
Kit shook his head. “It would have been better than hobbling your way to the next posting inn.”
“You needn’t worry about me. I’mfine.”
There it was—the “I’m fine.”
In the female vocabulary, no two words could ever be icier.
“I’m sorry I tried to help,” he muttered. “You can crawl your way to—where are you going? Oh, yes, Liverpool—if that is your preference.”
She did not like the sound of that. Now her gaze was as icy as her words. “I don’tneedyour help,” she said. “Ididn’task for it.” She paused to loosen the ties of her cloak, throwing the edges over her shoulders.
The day was growing warmer. Her cheeks looked flush. He realized he was sweating as well. He took off his coat. “Very well. Hobble on.”
“It is better I do that than you trying to accost coaches.”
