Page 34 of The Countess Caper

Terrifying.

Summer, naturally, was smug as ten cats. Rue was wary. Holly went through the few books left in the library, mouse-nibbled pages curling with damp, to find her poetry for the ceremony. Everything she suggested contained murder or wailing ghosts.

“You’re going to Bristol alone?” Summer asked, disbelievingly. “Surely not.”

“Why not? I have my own horse.” And Tessa absolutely could not stomach the thought of waking up the morning after the wedding night with Roarke making polite excuses to leave her behind as soon as possible. This was cleaner. More logical. No matter what the look on Summer’s face suggested.

She had a horse and a small valise packed with necessities. A few coins, a few items she might sell in Bristol until the monthly allowance was accessible. It might not be very romantic, but it was smart. Safe.

Summer grinned at her. “Are you sure about that?”

“About what? The whole mad affair?”

“No, about riding your horse in the rain for hours.”

“I won’t melt.”

“You certainly won’t. Look out the window.”

Roarke’s carriage waited out front. Tessa’s stomach dropped. She had already told him she preferred to ride alone. Was she already to be disregarded, her opinions overridden? Nerves turned to outright trepidation. This was a mistake.

She marched outside, trailing Summer, Rue with her trusty kitchen knife, and Holly with a wedding bouquet of weeds and yellow roses she had tied with a faded ribbon she’d found in a drawer in one of the bedchambers. “Because of that little song you always sing about yellow roses,” she had explained. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “They are not very romantic, I’m afraid. In the language of flowers.”

Bouquet in hand, Tessa opened her mouth to order away the coachman now opening the carriage door.

Into an empty carriage.

Roarke’s family crest might be on the door, but he was not inside. Tessa stumbled to a stop, confused. The coachman bowed. He was not as tall as Roarke, and his arm muscles didn’t strain at his shirt, but there was something sharp about him. If he was an ordinary coachman, she’d eat her hat. There was a scar across his throat, as if someone had started cutting and was stopped. He had thick black hair and a kind smile. “My name is Atticus, Lady Tessa. The earl has sent me. This is your carriage now, and I am in your employ. If you’ll have me.”

Trepidation turned to a tiny, warm flush that she had been seen, if only for a moment. That Roarke took her concerns seriously.

Rue marched forward, which was just as well, since Tessa seemed temporarily frozen to the spot.

“And if she wants you to take her somewhere the earl does not approve of?” Rue demanded. “If someone asks you about her whereabouts? Her companions?”

“The earl instructed me to mind my business.”

Rue smiled. It was mostly a flash of very sharp teeth, but it was a start.

Tessa forced her limbs to move. “Thank you, Atticus.” She tilted her head. She recalled very well how Roarke reacted to her little housebreaker problem. “And how many weapons are on your person at this very moment?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen?” Rue breathed as if he’d just shouted poetry. “He can stay. We are keeping him.”

Atticus smiled briefly. He turned to Tessa. “My lady?”

“Well, you’re not a puppy, so we aren’t just keeping you. Are you sure you don’t mind? Fox Hollow is hardly London. Diversions are not plentiful.”

“I’ve books for that.”

She didn’t know what Roarke had told him about Magpie House, nor how much Roarke truly knew about their operation. But it seemed it was enough for him to take care. She’d take that over champagne and cake and flowery wedding announcements in the paper. Any day.

“Very well,” Tessa said, and climbed into the carriage.

It probably should not have been so monumental.

It absolutely was.