He continued to tap his fingers on the table as he studied her face, wondering how much he should tell her. Deciding to downplay what he did, he answered. “Information gathering, mostly.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
“My brother served, but unfortunately he didna make it home.” Sadness caused the corners of her mouth to slope down into a frown and her eyes to mist over.
“I am verra sorry, Lass.” Without thinking, he reached across the table and grasped her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckle in an offering of comfort.
She pulled back her hand as if she’d been scorched and quickly looked around the room.
He cursed under his breath.
Bloody hell. He had meant naught by the gesture, but also understood what the ramifications of such an action could mean for a young lass.
“I apologize. Both for my actions and for your brother.”
She cleared her throat and pushed back from the table.
He hurried to stand.
“I wish to return to my room for the night, my lord. Thank ye for the conversation.” She spun on her heel and rushed from the room, Mary following closely on her heels.
He looked to the ceiling and shook his head, disgusted with himself. He called for a servant and when she approached, he asked, “Whisky?”
“Aye, my lord.” The serving maid bowed and scuttled off. She returned a few minutes later with a decanter of whisky and a glass.
He offered his thanks and poured himself a generous serving.
Knocking back the deep-amber liquid, he hissed at the burn as it made its way down his throat. He refilled the glass but this time, nursed his drink.
He had a duty to protect the lass and her maid. And to keep an eye on her to ensure she didn’t attempt to escape. Though he really didn’t think she would do that. After all, she’d already given him the name of the estate where she resided. If she tried to run, that’s where she would go, and he would just follow.
Either way, he needed to keep his wits about him this night.
He finished the glass and bid good eve to the serving maid and the innkeeper as he passed the man hunched over a logbook on the desk.
Upstairs, he paused outside Lizzie’s door and listened. He could hear voices but couldn’t discern the conversation. That was fine. He just wanted to ensure they were inside.
Inside his own room, he washed up for the night, but he had no plans on sleeping in this room on the bed that would no doubt be more comfortable than the floor.
Nay, he would be posted out in the hall. He told himself it was to make sure the lass didn’t make a run for home, but he kenned deep inside it was because he wanted to ensure the lass’s safety.
He would make sure no man entered the room while two young women slept inside.
*
Lizzie awoke inthe middle of the night and tossed and turned for some time, unable to fall back to sleep. Whenever this happened, the only thing she found that would help was a glass of warm milk. Obviously, she didn’t have any in her room, and after a few moments of worrying about what the innkeeper would think about her going down to the kitchen for a glass, she decided that if she wanted to get any sleep at all this night, she didn’t have a choice.
Slipping quietly out of bed, being careful not to awaken Mary, she pushed her feet into slippers and wrapped herself in a robe. She looked over her shoulder as she pulled the door open, saying a silent prayer that the hinges didn’t squeak, and stepped into the hall.
“Where are ye going lass?”
“Christ!” She exclaimed before she could stop it. “Ye frightened me. What are ye doing in the hall?”
Sitting on the floor, his back against his room’s door, sat the earl, his arm resting on a bent knee, a smirk tilting his mouth.
“Making sure ye arena escaping,” he said quietly.
She threw her arms up in the air. “Surely, ye jest, Sir.” She tapped her palm on her chest, trying to calm her beating heart. She feared it would beat right out of her chest at how much he made her jump. “If I were planning an escape, which I am no’, but if I were, would I be wearing slippers and a robe?”
She crossed her arms and pierced him with a stare.
