He put down his coffee cup. “So he knew his life was in danger.”
“It appears he did.”
“Did he explain the reason for the added security?”
“He said there had been some thievery in the district. But there was an accident about a month ago. A wheel came off my father’s coach as it descended a steep road. The coach tipped over, but Papa and the driver climbed out unhurt. Papa said a rusty bolt must have snapped. But was that really what happened? Might someone have loosened it?”
“Hard to say.” He pushed his plate away. “Leave the matter in Sir John Kent’s hands.” He threw down his napkin. “Sir John is the local magistrate in charge of the investigation. I know him. A good man.”
“I’ve never met him, but if you say he is, then I must put my trust in him.” She paused. “There’s something else.” She reached into the coat pocket and took out the note. Leaning over the table, she handed it to him.
He read it in silence. His expression grave, he handed it back to her. “I can see why your father wished you to go to Bain, but this doesn’t tell us much.”
“Except that it’s penned on quality Bond, in a fine cursive. An educated gentleman must have written it.”
He raised his eyes to hers. “Possible.”
Dissatisfied with his response, she frowned at him. “Surely, you must agree?”
“I would need to know more. Have you any idea what the words refer to?”
“No.”
“Write to the magistrate about the note,” he repeated, frustrating her. He pushed back his chair. “If you’ve finished, we should continue on our journey. Unless you’ve changed your mind and wish to returnhome? I’ll arrange for a post-chaise to take you.”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” she said firmly as he escorted her from the parlor.
Seated again in the curricle, Lord Hereford placed his greatcoat over her knees.
“Thank you.” It smelled appealingly of him. She resisted lifting it to her nose, shocked at wanting to. They were soon on the road again as the midday sun climbed higher in the sky. After another hour’s travel, dark, thunderous clouds gathered on the horizon, and a cool autumn breeze swirled around them. Keenly aware of the man beside her, Prudence wished he’d put his delightfully warm and muscular arm around her again, despite her annoyance that he hadn’t agreed with her theory about the note. Or offered to help her. “Is Lord Bain a decent man?”
He glanced at her. “He is. Don’t be swayed by appearances.”
She glared at him, tired of his dissembling.
“With a bit of luck, the rain should hold off,” he said, his gaze returning to the road.
She shivered, clutching the greatcoat snuggly around herself. “How much longer?”
“Another two hours or so, if the rain clouds blow away and roads remain dry.” He glanced at her. “What will your great-grandmother make of your mode of dress? Surely, she will be angry when she learns you’ve traveled all this way unchaperoned with a man to whom you have not been formally introduced.”
“Gramma won’t mind.” She hesitated. “But I would like to change,” she admitted. Perhaps because he would carry a more flattering image of her in his mind when they parted. She pointed to a copse of trees a little way ahead, with nothing but fields behind it. “If you’d kindly stop over there. It won’t take me a moment to change into my gown.”
Without comment, Lord Hereford stopped the horses, tied off thereins, and left the curricle.
“Please, may I have my portmanteau?” she asked.
He assisted her onto the grass verge, then removed the strap securing her portmanteau to the rear of the curricle. She took it from him and, darting among the trees, selected a secluded spot behind a huge, spreading chestnut tree. Her wool gown was a favorite, primrose-colored, trimmed with three flounces of lace around the hem. The long sleeves had pearl buttons on the cuffs and on the bodice. She had tucked stays that tied up in front, a petticoat, and a pair of yellow shoes into her bag. Shivering in her shift as she stepped into the petticoat, she noticed a gap between the leafy branches, and for a brief moment, met Lord Hereford’s gaze before he politely turned away.
“Oh, bother,” she murmured, shrugging, and hurriedly dressed. Would he notice she’d forgotten her stockings? It made her feel a little scandalous as she donned her pelisse. With relief, she pulled off her uncomfortable boots and slipped on the shoes. The gloves were tan kid, the bonnet spring green velvet, which she deposited on her head, the ribbons dangling, before running back to the curricle with her father’s clothing tucked into the valise.
“A remarkable improvement.” He took her hand and assisted her up.
“The clothes are crushed, but I’m warmer.” She felt much better in her own clothes as she smoothed the pelisse and fiddled with the bonnet.
“Allow me.” He leaned over and settled her hat on her head, then he brushed the stray curls from her cheek in a manner that revealed his experience with women’s apparel. Her heart beating faster at his light touch, Prue couldn’t resist studying him. It was the first time she’d been this close to a gentleman, apart from her father. He had a patrician nose. How long and lush were his black eyelashes. She took a deep breath of his now-familiar woody soap.
He looked up at her. Did he find her amusing? It was hard to readthe expression in his eyes, which seemed shadowed when in repose. It had made her wonder if he carried some hurt or a sad memory, and she couldn’t help but be intrigued.
