“Teufel nochmal. What on earth is she running away from?”
“Not what.” She looked at him pointedly from underneath her lashes. “Who.”
It took him a moment to register who, precisely, she meant.
He fell back into his seat, robbed of speech.
Chapter Six
Evie should have been an actress.Really, Drury Lane had missed out on such a talent as she. For the past half hour, she’d been lying through her teeth, performing with an aplomb that would have put a diplomat to shame.
Her reasons were threefold.
First, she was, initially, not entirely convinced the man really was who he claimed to be. Evie was not naive. She had read of impostors who had studied their victims in such detail that they slid into a new identity with perfect ease, and were discovered only after relieving them of half a fortune. It seemed too great a coincidence that her betrothed happened to conveniently appear just as she was venturing out to seek him herself. But after she had tested him, she had to grudgingly admit that maybe Fortuna did have that perverse sense of humour that made such an unlikely reunion on the road possible. He appeared to be Hartenberg, indeed.
Second, she’d been struck dumb when he’d stalked off with Clara in his arms, thinking Clara was Evie. She’d stood for a full minute at the bottom of the stairs, staring afterthem, her jaw slack. Then she’d somehow missed the moment to remedy the misunderstanding.
Third. Her mind was in a whirl of calculations and scheming (Clara, measles! What now? And Hartenberg here! Not at all old and ugly, but a disturbingly manly specimen of a…man, with an annoyingly energetic and commanding presence). She came to the inevitable conclusion: if he did not know who she was, that might actually be an advantage. She could continue to study and test him, secretly, to determine his true personality and whether he really was the man she would like to spend the rest of her life with. True, it was an arranged engagement, but if she put her foot down and decided they did not suit, Julius would not force the matter. She was certain of it.
Lastly, ah yes, there was yet another point! She did it because it amused her. Maybe that was the most important point of all. The impish devil within her was egging her on.
This, therefore, was to be her goal: to remain in the role of Clara Honeywell, daughter of a clergyman, companion to the duke’s sister, to determine who Georg von Hartenberg really, truly was.
It was an excellent plan.
Except the part about Evie running away from him, she’d blurted out on the spur of the moment. She had no idea why she had said this.
She gauged his reaction with interest.
The man was clearly discomposed. Most definitely.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This defies all reason.”
She hoped her eyes were entirely wide and guileless when she met his gaze straight on. “But what are we to do, good sir, in a situation such as this?” she lisped, with a flutter of herlashes.
She had deduced from the condescending curl of his lips that he despised women who did that, so she was determined to do so at every turn. She still hadn’t forgiven him for calling her a poppet. So, naturally, she would pull out all the stops to behave as helpless and poppet-like as possible. With a lisp.
She succeeded, for he threw her an irritated look. “Why in heaven does Lady Evie deem it necessary to flee? If the match does not suit her, she should just say so. We are no longer living in the Middle Ages. No one will drag her to the altar, least of all me.”
That was so reasonable and full of common sense that Evie did not, at first, know how to respond.
“Ahahaha. I wouldn’t know, would I? Being just her lowly, unmarried companion.” She smoothed the skirt on her knees. “Have you asked her yourself?”
He threw her a thunderous look.
“Well, there you are. Maybe the problem is simply a want of communication.” She finished her tea, set down the cup and got up.
“Where are you going?” he promptly shot at her.
“To procure a room. As you have insisted, I can hardly stay in Lady Evie’s room, if I do not want to die and bring down the entire establishment with the measles. Then I would be responsible for everyone’s deaths and you have informed me that we can’t have that. And I can hardly sleep with the soldiers in the stables, can I?” She looked at him with a tilted head. “My reputation, dear sir,” she added with a lisp. “What would people say?”
“Herrgottnochmal,” he muttered.
She turned and walked to the counter, rapping on it several times with her knuckles. The innkeeper came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on his stained leather apron.
“What now?” he grunted.
“My, what friendliness,” Evie replied, kindly. She leaned forward. “I shall need a room. For myself.”
