Page 33 of A Stranger’s Gamble

“Miss—”

“Shaw,” Beatrice said in a shaky voice that Sophie feared would give poor Beatrice away.”

“Miss Shaw?” Adam MacAlister spoke.

“Y-yes, sir—my lord.”

Sophie’s head spun. God help them, they were sure to get caught with Beatrice bumbling things so. How could she help Beatrice?

By not getting caught.

Beatrice might be nervous, but she would never betray Sophie by admitting she wasn’t Miss Shaw. That meant, as long as they didn’t discover Sophie’s presence, Lord Monthemer would have to accept that Beatrice was Sophie Shaw.

Carefully, Sophie eased through the bushes. A branch scraped her leg, and she barely missed another branch that slipped from her grasp and snapped back near her eye. She stifled a cry and finally stepped out onto the path on the other side. She looked down at her dress. One long tear bared her left calf. That must have happened when she plunged into the bushes. Other small tears had left small openings, but she was respectable enough to at least try to reach her carriage. But which way was out?

Sophie turned and nearly cried out with relief upon seeing the path open onto lawn. She hurried forward and, a moment later, caught sight of the house to the left, beyond the lawn and garden. She couldn’t go through the house. Her torn dress would raise too many questions, and Beatrice and the marquess could show up at any time. She looked to the right and hurried toward the gate at the far end of the garden. That had to be the door for deliveries.

Ten minutes later, Sophie reached her carriage, which sat parked outside Lady Ella’s house as expected. Sophie opened the carriage door. The driver twisted in his seat and his eyes widened. He leapt from his seat to the ground so quickly that Sophie halted in stepping into the carriage. He hurried to her side.

“What happened, miss?” He looked around for what she wagered were the people he feared had accosted her.

“I am fine, Mr. Jones.”

“But, miss, you are not fine.” His focus locked onto the tear at her calf, then he jerked his gaze up to her face. “Your aunt will be furious, miss.”

“Never fear, Mr. Jones, I took a tumble into the bushes.”

He frowned. “Are you sure? If—”

A door opened, and Sophie didn’t wait to see who was exiting Lady Ella’s house. “I am fine, Mr. Jones.” She nearly jumped into the carriage and pulled the door shut.

She caught the murmur of voices and a horrible thought struck. What if the marquess insisted on escorting Beatrice to the carriage? Sophie strained to discern the voices but her heart beat so hard all she could hear was the blood pounding through her ears. She looked wildly around the inside the carriage as if she could locate some nook in which to hide. She spotted the folded blanket sitting on the opposite cushion. She grabbed it and flung it open, then wrapped it around her shoulders and reached for the door facing the road. Hand on the lever, she jumped when the other door opened. Sophie jerked her head around as Beatrice stepped up into the carriage.

“Quickly, Mr. Jones,” Beatrice said in a breathless voice.

Mr. Jones caught Sophie’s gaze, then closed the door. Sophie dropped back onto her seat as Beatrice sat on the opposite side. The vehicle listed slightly as Mr. Jones climbed back into his perch then, an instant later, the carriage lurched into motion.

“What happened?” Sophie demanded.

Beatrice exhaled a loud breath. “That Lord Monthemer is a man to be reckoned with.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, I am certain he knows.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. He cannot know you are not me. Unless—Lady Ella did not tell him?”

Beatrice shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “Lady Ella was not there. Another man was there, Nicholas someone or another. But that does not signify. Lord Monthemer stared at me as if he were studying me under a microscope. He knows, I tell you."

Sophie collapsed back onto the cushion. “Oh, Bea, you goose. He was acting like that because he is trying to decide whether or not he should marry you.” The carriage swayed and she leaned forward again. “Did you make yourself disagreeable?”

Beatrice stared. “Disagreeable? Why would I do that? All I could think about was getting away from him as quickly as possible.”

“That is a shame,” Sophie said. “Oh! How did you get away from him?”

“I told him I needed a moment in the ladies retiring room.”

Sophie’s mouth fell open. “You mean, he is still waiting for you to return?”

Beatrice shrugged. “By now, he likely knows I left.”

“That was terribly rude, Beatrice,” Sophie murmured.

“Do you think so?”

“Indeed, I do.” Sophie slapped her leg. “That is wonderful. No man will want to marry a woman who left him waiting with the excuse that she needed to visit the ladies retiring room.”