Chapter Twelve
As they tuckedinto the lavish spread which Mrs. Fletcher prepared for them, their son, Robert, arrived from Canterbury, where he worked at an inn. A good-natured fellow, he agreed to drive them in the trap after breakfast. His father reddened with pleasure when Flynn bestowed his horse upon him. Fletcher and his wife bowed them out of sight as the trap took off down the dusty road.
“How are we to get home? By stage?” Althea raised her eyebrows at him as they were jolted along on the trap’s hard seat.
“Do you prefer to ride back to London on the horse with me?”
“I do not.” She wrinkled her little nose at him again. He’d rather like to kiss it.
“My carriage. Ben will turn up with it shortly.”
Flynn admired Althea’s pale, pretty face, and eyes like the sky in mid-summer. She wore a plain straw hat belonging to Mrs. Fletcher; tendrils of fair hair curled at her neck. She was not as delicate as she appeared. He liked that she’d tidied herself without complaint or bemoaning the absence of her abigail. Her only protest came when he laced her stays and did up her buttons. A job he was beginning to enjoy.
They arrived in Canterbury before noon and climbed down from the trap outside the Old Gate Inn, a three-story, whitewashed building, its end wall covered in a thick mat of ivy. Flynn was confident the plotters had either not yet arrived or would still be abed.
The innkeeper’s look of surprise turned to concern when Flynn related his fabricated story of a carriage accident. “It’s fortunate I have a bedchamber free, my lord,” the innkeeper said, puffing out his chest. “I’ve several gentlemen occupying my best rooms and my private parlor has been reserved for today.”
“So early? I had hoped to engage your parlor,” Flynn said.
The innkeeper reddened and scratched his head with his pencil. “I have no other to offer you, my lord. I’ve never had such a demand for my parlor! Mr. Brownley asked me to hold it for him yesterday. He has reserved the room for most of the day.”
“Perhaps I might speak with him. Is he traveling with family?”
“No, my lord. He’s here with two other gentlemen.”
“Ah. Business. Perhaps not then.”
When they entered the inn’s modest bedchamber, Flynn removed Althea’s cape. “You must remain here until I return. Keep out of sight.”
She shrugged. “I don’t see why.”
“You could do with some rest.” He put a hand on her bare arm, her skin soft beneath his fingers, and tried not to eye the bed. “You’ve barely slept.”
“I don’t feel tired.” Althea wriggled out of his grasp. “I wish you would tell me more.” Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip and sent an unwanted message to his brain. “Is there some reason why you cannot?”
Flynn forced his gaze away from her mouth. “You don’t expect me to answer that, do you?”
“You have answered it,” she said coolly. “I could be of help to you, if you’d be honest with me.”
“Thank you. I believe you do wish to.” He’d long suspected Althea to be stifled by the life she’d been forced into by men who didn’t give a damn about her. Might she have begun to enjoy the escapade? Now he had only to keep her safe, then, when they returned to London, well… he’d deal with that later. He walked over to where she’d removed her bonnet and was tidying her hair before the mirror.
He cupped her shoulders, meeting her gaze in the glass. “I am guilt-ridden at those shadows beneath your lovely eyes.”
“I’m sure you’re tired, too. I daresay we both will recover.” Althea smiled and ducked under his arm, walking to the window. He came to stand beside her. She leaned on the sill and stared down at the street where barrels were unloaded from a dray. A ginger cat perched on a wall watching. “What do you plan to do whilst I’m whiling away the hours here?”
“I shan’t be far away if you need me.”
“At shouting or running distance?”
He grinned and gently stroked down her cheek with a finger, aware of how flawless and kissable her skin was. “Ring for a servant. They will find me.”
She frowned. “I wonder if the proprietor’s wife has a book or magazine I might read to amuse myself.”
“Excellent idea. I’ll go and ask.”
He descended the stairs in search of the innkeeper’s wife, wishing he was more confident Althea would stay put. Would it have been safer to leave her in London? Was it fair that he’d brought her here for his own peace of mind?
*
