Her mouth nearly dropped open. “But I’m Lady Sarah…”
“You might try explaining that to the wolves. I’m certain they will be impressed.”
Sarah’s face heated. He was right. She hated the pomposity with which she’d spoken. She never used her title for any special favors in London. But here, here she was frightened and uncertain of herself, uncertain of this man. She needed to use whatever means she had at her disposal to convince him not to toss her out on her ear, and she was quickly coming to realize that the things that mattered most in her world apparently made little difference in the Scottish Highlands. She decided to try a different tactic. “Have you never been to London?”
“Not when I can help it,” he replied vaguely, “and you still haven’t answered my question.”
Her virtue being somewhat assured, Sarah allowed the quilt to drop from her shoulders. She heaped it back onto the bed sheepishly. She hadn’t answered him because she hadn’t yet decided how to answer him. The truth was ridiculous, but a lie might be exceedingly more so. In the end, she decided to tell the truth. Her former governess, Miss Hawthorne, would demand it. Besides, she’d already told Mr. Fergus the truth. Mr. Fergus had been far more sympathetic and far easier to trust, of course. But when he returned, he’d repeat it and contradict any lies she might dream up now. Finally, she decided to tell the truth because of her own innate sense of fairness. She was clearly in the wrong here. Shehadbroken into his home, even if Mr. Fergus had eventually invited her to stay. And shehadsubsequently attempted to attack this man with his own sword. She felt an adequate sense of chagrin. She was not chagrin-less.
She straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat, but she did not meet his eyes. She would answer his questions truthfully, but there was no need to blurt out theentirestory.
“My father owns a hunting lodge nearby,” she said evenly.
“But why areyouhere?”
All right. She had to bend the trutha bit. “On… holiday?” Bother. She hadn’t meant it to sound like a question. She was obviously rubbish at lying.
“On holiday, dressed like a maid?” Skepticism positively dripped from his deep voice.
Double bother. That was a difficult question to answer without revealing more details.
She smoothed her hands over the white apron she hadn’t remembered to remove when she’d lain down for her nap. “I didn’t wish anyone to know I left London.”
“You left London?”
“Yes.”
“Secretly?”
“Yes.”
“And you came to Scotland?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She tugged at the wide white collar of her plain gray gown. “Be… cause.” Her face heated again. “Because Ihadto get away, only…”
He waited, watching her for a few moments of silence before prompting, “Only?”
She pressed a clammy hand to her forehead. “Only I’ve never been here before and the direction I was given wasn’t entirely accurate and I picked the wrong house.”
A few moments ticked by before she could tell he was struggling not to laugh. The corners of his mouth turned up and his firmly molded lips shook suspiciously.
“You mistook my house for your father’s?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her cheeks were flaming now. She pushed at the rug with the tip of her stockinged toe.
“I take it your father was not the one who gave you the direction?”
“No, I… er… that is… my maid bribed my father’s valet for the information, and—”
“Bribed?” His blond eyebrows snapped together. “Am I to understand your father didn’t allow you to come here?”
She bit her lip but forced herself to meet his eyes.Bother. Bother. Bother.She’d have to come out with it. “That’s correct. The truth is I ran away.”
CHAPTER FOUR
