Three days. She leaned her head back against the squabs and closed her eyes. Three days ago she’d lied to Julian. It felt like an eternity had passed since then.
She’d been calm enough at first, riding next to him in the carriage, his warm thigh pressed to hers. It became more difficult when he wrapped an arm around her and urged her to rest against him, but she managed to keep her peace, even when he stroked her hair to soothe her into sleep. But as the miles disappeared under the horses’ hooves she felt the faintest tickling behind her lips, and soon afterward it became painfully clear that…
The truth will out.
The tickle became an itch, then a sting, then a burn, and then such a raging conflagration nothing but the most violent effort on her part could keep the truth from blazing forth and burning to ash everything in its path.
And the main thing in its path was Julian.
So she’d done the only thing she could think to do. She’d retreated behind pleasantries and careful smiles. By mid-morning on the second day she’d stopped smiling and lapsed into monosyllables. This morning she’d pressed her lips together and gone utterly silent. At last, unable to bear the hurt look in his dark eyes, she’d opened her mouth long enough to say she preferred to ride in the carriage alone. Julian hadn’t said a word, but at the next inn he’d procured a mount and left her to her lonely fate.
A liar’s fate.
But she hadn’t lied. She simply hadn’t told the entire truth. It wasn’t the same as a lie.
She’d been telling herself that since they left Hampshire, but three days later it still felt like a lie, and now here they were at the Liar’s Arms.
Which seemed appropriate.
A light rap sounded on the carriage door. “Lady Hadley?” Julian’s voice, cool and distant. “I’ve secured rooms for us. Will you alight?”
Charlotte winced at the formal address. “I beg your pardon, Captain.” She wiped her eyes with her gloved fingers, took a deep breath and opened the carriage door. “I must have fallen asleep.”
Julian held out his hand to assist her from the carriage. He released her the instant the toe of her slipper touched the ground, but his gaze narrowed on her face. “You do look fatigued. Are you well?”
“Yes, quite well. You said you secured rooms?”
“Yes, and I ordered you a bath.”
She fixed one of the meaningless smiles onto her face. “That will be lovely.” Against his wishes she’d declined taking a maid with her on the journey. Hardly proper, but at the moment Sarah was on the road somewhere between London and Bellwood, and if she couldn’t have Sarah, she chose not to have anyone. “You’d make a wonderful lady’s maid, Captain.”
She meant to lighten the mood and perhaps wipe the grim look from his eyes, but Julian’s face remained stiff. “I’ll order dinner delayed for an hour, then. Will that do?”
She wilted like a flower under a boot heel at his cold tone, though it was nothing more than she expected. And dinner—dear God, the very idea of a stilted, near-silent dinner with Julian made her throb with exhaustion, but she didn’t want to hide in her room like a coward, either. Perhaps she’d feel better after her bath. “Yes. Thank you.”
But she didn’t feel better after her bath. The warm water eased the aches from her sore limbs, but any illusions she’d cherished about her deceit vanished into the curls of steam rising from the tub.
The Liar’s Arms. She kicked listlessly at the cooling bathwater. It wasn’t as if the name of the inn was a sign of some sort, or a condemnation of her actions. It was nothing more than a simple coincidence. And anyway, she hadn’t lied. She hadn’t revealed everything to Julian about what happened after Hadley died, but that was a lie of omission only, which wasn’t the same as a true lie.
Charlotte rose from the bath and reached for the length of toweling a maid had placed on a chair. A chair from The Liar’s Arms.
Which was an appropriate name, because she was a liar.
And she’d remain one.
That is, as long as she could keep from blurting out the truth before they reached Bellwood, and to do that she’d have to avoid Julian as much as possible. One more reproachful look from his dark eyes was all it would take to break her.
She pulled on her night rail and wrapper, yanked on the bell to summon a servant, then paced from one end of the room to the other until a maid appeared at the door. “Take a message to Captain West, if you please. Tell him I’m too tired for dinner tonight and will retire at once. He should dine without me.”
“Shall I have a tray sent up, your ladyship?”
Charlotte’s stomach rebelled at the thought of food. “Nothing to eat, but a glass of port will be welcome.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, my lady.”
Charlotte leaned back against the door and stayed there until the maid returned with a tray holding a single a glass of port. As soon as the door closed behind the girl Charlotte sank into the chair before the fire. She curled her legs underneath her and sipped at her port while she watched the flames dance in the grate. They seemed too bright, somehow, so bright they made her eyes burn and tear.
It was better if Julian didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he could change it. He’d said it himself, that morning at Hadley House after they’d made love.
