“Oscar!” I cried.
A dark-skinned woman dressed in navy-and-white striped silk, matching hat and white gloves, pushed past me from behind and thrust her closed umbrella across the doorway before I could step into the cabin. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I believe you’ve made a mistake. This vehicle is for us.”
I’d expected an American accent like the man who’d shouted, but it was English, and an upper class one at that. The woman was extraordinarily pretty with high cheekbones and brown eyes fanned by long lashes. She was slim and tall—taller than me, but a little shorter than Oscar.
He couldn’t take his gaze off her. “I believe we were here first, ma’am, but since you’re also paying Mr. Kinloch a visit, we’ll allow you and your companion to join us.” He raised his brows in question at the coachman.
“It’s all the same tae me.” The coachman hunkered down into the collar of his greatcoat as he faced forward.
Oscar smiled as he held out his hand to the woman to assist her up the step.
She accepted it, returning his smile as she locked her gaze onto his. There was something quite mesmerizing about her, a quality that was more than mere physical beauty. It was her confidence, I realized, as I watched her with Oscar. She seemed so utterly sure of herself, of every lithe movement of her limbs, every languid blink of those large eyes, and every syllable that fell from her lips. I envied her that confidence.
I was so transfixed by her that I wasn’t aware she’d forced Oscar to take a polite step back by drawing close to him. Nor did I notice she’d lowered her parasol until a man brushed past me and climbed into the carriage. Oscar noticed too late, too, and opened his mouth to protest.
Before he could utter a word, the woman stabbed the end of her umbrella into his left shoe at the toes. “It’s not nice to take something which isn’t yours.”
Oscar winced in pain although he quickly plastered a smile on his face as the woman climbed into the carriage. “If you’ll give us a moment to remove our?—”
The woman closed the door and the American man commanded the driver to make haste.
“Our luggage!” Oscar cried.
The groom who’d secured it to the roof had to run to catch up with the vehicle as it pulled away from the curb. He managed to jump onto the footboard at the back before it sped off.
“Damn and blast!” Oscar growled. “Why didn’t you stop them, Gavin?”
“Me? Why not you? Oh, that’s right, you were too busy admiring that woman’s…eyes.” My uncharacteristic sarcasm earned a blink of surprise from Oscar.
Then he broke into a grin. “I’m glad to see you can stand up for yourself.”
“Sorry. I’m tired. But it was their transportation. You heard the coachman ask if you were Defoe.” I stared in the direction the carriage had gone, but it was already out of sight. “What on earth is he doing here, and heading to Mr. Kinloch’s residence, the same as us? It’s such an extraordinary coincidence.”
“Not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll explain on the way, but first, we have to make sure Defoe doesn’t get the opportunity to buy that book out from under our noses.”
“Not to mention retrieve our luggage. I do hope that groom managed to secure it properly.”
Oscar wasn’t listening. He strode to the open cart that had been waiting behind Mr. Kinloch’s carriage. He spoke to the driver as two station porters wrestled a trunk onto the back, then he signaled to me to join him.
“This is Defoe’s luggage. The driver has agreed to let us ride to Kinloch’s place with it.”
I went to climb up beside the driver, but he ordered us to the back. Oscar assisted me onto the tray and sat down, his back against a steamer trunk with the initials J.J.D. embossed in gold on the side. A second, more battered trunk of similar size was positioned behind it. It must belong to the woman. If it bore a monogram, I couldn’t see it. There was other luggage, too, including a third trunk and smaller valises. Mr. John J. Defoe and his female companion did not travel light.
Oscar inspected the lock on the trunk behind him. “Magic warmth,” he said, sounding impressed.
I looked for a clean place to sit but couldn’t find one. If I had my luggage I could retrieve a towel from my valise and sit on that. I was considering whether I wanted to stand or sit when the decision was made for me. The cart lurched forward, causing me to fall to my knees beside Oscar.
“All right, Gavin?” he asked.
I sat down and dusted off my trousers. “I’m fine. Oscar, I don’t think it’s right to show up unannounced in the evening at Mr. Kinloch’s house. We’re not expected until tomorrow.”
“Are you willing to lose the Mackenzie book to someone else over a matter of politeness?”
I twisted so that I could see the back of the driver’s head. “My good fellow, could you go a little faster? Time is of the essence.” At Oscar’s arched brows, I added, “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on a copy of Mackenzie’s Laws of Witchcraft for years.”
