“Why thank you, my lord. Iwilltakethatas a compliment.” And with that remark, she leaned back in her corner of the carriage and closed her eyes.
The deep inhalations that followed a few minutes later confirmed she’d fallen asleep. What shocked Alistair most about this realization was the disappointment he felt at having to forego further conversation with her at present. Last night, when Abigail’s letter had arrived informing him that he was to bring Miss Potter with him, he could not have been more displeased. Now, he anticipated her waking up again so they could resume their repartee.
Which made him wonder if there might be something wrong with him, since he really ought to be grateful for the reprieve she offered by choosing to sleep. It gave him the time he needed to focus on finding a way out from underneath Langley’s boot. It also meant he did not have to make an effort to entertain her as he’d been loath to do before setting out. But with each passing mile, he found himself glancing over at her with increasing frequency. Discovering she was pretty to look at was one thing. Learning she was a capable sparring partner was quite another.
* * *
Enjoyinga pleasant dream in which she danced at a glittering ball, Louise did not appreciate being shaken awake. “Go away,” she murmured, trying to retreat from the hand squeezing her shoulder.
“I’m afraid I cannot do so.”
The low baritone made her eyes snap open to find Lord Alistair’s face within inches of her own. “What?” Her voice was a squeak. She shifted in her seat, and he finally leaned back, though not without allowing her to inhale his scent. A rich smell of musk and bergamot wafted past her defenses, assaulting her with their delicious aroma. The effect it had on her was one she would rather not consider at the moment, lest she do something highly regrettable, like lean toward him and inhale more deeply.
Thankfully, she wasn’t given the chance to do so as he moved back to his own seat, snatched up her bonnet, and handed it to her. “We’ve arrived at the first posting inn.” He glanced at Bridget who promptly sneezed. Lord Alistair frowned. “I hope you’re not getting ill.”
“No, my lord.” Bridget sniffled a little. “I am perfectly well.”
His frown deepened, but rather than question the maid any further, he said. “Very well then. If you’ll both accompany me inside, someone will show you to your rooms so you can freshen up before supper. You’ll be with the other servants, Bridget, but close enough to Miss Potter to offer assistance, should she need it.”
The decisive manner in which he spoke was sobering. It reminded Louise that there was a purpose to this journey and that it did not involve her losing her head over a duke’s brother, no matter how sinfully handsome the duke’s brother happened to be. So she gave him a nod, waited for him to exit the carriage, then allowed him to help her down first. She was far too practical to care about the way in which his fingers curled around her hand or the fact that he offered her his arm once she and Bridget were both on the ground. To do so would be silly, daft, and completely senseless. And yet a part of her – that feminine part yearning for romance – could not quite help but bask in the whole experience.
The basking came to a swift halt, however, when her bag was carried in and Lord Alistair handed her and Bridget over to a servant, who promptly marched them upstairs and down a narrow corridor to their respective bedrooms. Once alone, Louise set down her bonnet, then took a moment to appreciate the crisp linens dressing the bed and the water waiting for her on the washstand. A stack of clean towels sat beside it, drawing her closer. Splashing cool water onto her hands, she washed her face, savoring the soothing effect it had on her skin.
Crossing to the window, she glanced out, expecting to find a view of the English countryside. Instead, a courtyard where the arriving carriages were being parked filled her vision. Lord Alistair’s landau was there as well, but it wasn’t the carriage that caught her attention so much as the man who appeared to be helping the grooms with the horses. In spite of the cold, Lord Alistair had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He was unhitching one of the horses. The impatient animal whinnied, tossing its head until Lord Alistair grabbed hold of the reins and led it swiftly away from the carriage and toward the stables. A few minutes passed before he returned. Moving toward the next horse, he reached up and stroked its muzzle, then led it away as well.
Remaining by the window, Louise puzzled over this curious effort on Lord Alistair’s part. As far as she knew, aristocrats never lowered themselves to doing common chores. And since he did have a coachman, she found his action intriguing. One thing was certain – he was gradually proving to be something more than she’d first thought him capable of being. And as she watched him return to the courtyard with a sure stride and address his coachman, she couldn’t help but appreciate the line he seemed to walk between employer and friend, for although his stance suggested authority, his mannerisms made it clear that was able to enjoy an easy discussion with the driver. Her father had not had this skill, she reflected. He’d always kept the servants at a distance, and whenever he’d addressed them, it had been in a stern and overbearing tone.
She was still considering this when Lord Alistair suddenly turned and, as if sensing her, looked up. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before she spun away, removing herself from view. Which was silly, really. Why should she care if he spotted her at the window?
Because he knows you were looking at him.
Just as she’d done in the carriage. She lowered her face to the palms of her hands. Lord help her, she had to stop letting this man whom she scarcely knew fill up her head. Nothing good could possibly come of it.
* * *
When Miss Potterarrived in the private dining room he’d secured for them, Alistair did his best to aim for casual politeness. Which was no easy task after catching her by the window earlier. She’d been staring at him again – something he would do well to ignore. She was, he reminded himself, going to be in Abigail’s employ. If this alone, coupled with Bridget’s presence, was not enough to deter him from making advances, Miss Potter’s innocence was. And shewasan innocent. He knew it as well as he knew his own name, and he would be damned if he was going to take advantage of that.
Rising to greet her, he paused to reflect on the fact that she was alone. “Will Bridget not be joining us?”
“I recommended she stay in her room and rest. That sneeze in the carriage was only the first. Looks like she’s caught a serious chill.”
“That doesn’t bode well.” He moved to pull out her chair, but as she stepped in front of him, he drew a breath and instantly froze in response to the sweet aroma of jasmine clinging to her hair or her skin or wherever it was that it clung. It was like elixir to his senses, suffusing him with a sudden desire to press his nose against her and inhale more deeply. And with that notion, he felt himself stir with sudden arousal. It was worse than it had been in the carriage, forcing him to clamp his jaw shut and grip the chair while he waited for her to lower herself to the seat.
Pausing, he wondered how best to return to his own chair without drawing attention to the inconvenient reaction he was having to her. “Are those sheep?” he asked, pointing toward the window.
She turned to look, allowing him the chance he needed to circumvent the table and sit down across from her. “It’s a bit dark to tell, but yes,” she said. “I believe they are.”
Nodding, he breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought so.” He lowered his gaze to the piece of paper comprising the menu. “Are you hungry?”
“For sheep?”
When he glanced back up, her eyes were sparkling with mischief. She was teasing him, and he found he rather liked it. “I’m sure we can have one of them brought in on a platter,” he offered in an equally nonchalant tone.
“Thank you, but I think I’ll have the roasted chicken and mashed potatoes instead.”
“A commendable choice. I’ll have the same,” he said. “And to drink?”
This question stumped her, judging from her baffled appearance. “I don’t really know. Perhaps you can recommend something?”
