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And how on earth had he managed to wheedle her into accompanying them?

For here she was, barely an hour later, sitting in his comfortable, but dusty travel coach, which was now galloping at breakneck speed towards Brighton. She was clutching a reticule in her hands that wasn’t hers, and in the boot of the carriage was a trunk filled with clothes that weren’t hers, either.

To go bathing in the wild, wandering along the promenade, shopping, and what was it that he’d said? Oh yes. To eat ices.

Phoebe was sitting beside her, bouncing up and down with excitement, chattering non-stop.

She swallowed painfully.

Heaven help her to maintain the deception.

A sense of panic rushed through her, and she wondered whether she’d made a grave mistake. How on earth was she to survive the next few weeks, pretending to be one of England’s strictest and most popular headmistresses? What if they ran into someone in Brighton as they promenaded along the seafront, someone who knew Miss Hilversham?

Better not to think about the consequences. He was an earl, a member of the upper nobility, and she a mere serving maid. If he discovered her deception, he could have her thrown into prison without as much as a blink of an eye and she would languish in the deepest, darkest dungeons of Marshalsea Prison, forlorn and forgotten. Her poor brother would not know what had happened and wonder whether she’d run off with a sweetheart to the New World, abandoning him… Like Maman and Papa had abandoned them.

Anna repressed a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose, noting crossly that Miss Hilversham’s fine leather gloves were too big for her. As were the dresses, the boots, and the entire role she was to fill. She was certain she was heading straight for ruin.

“Are you quite all right?” St John, in his perpetual perceptiveness, would of course notice and comment on her discomfort.

“I’ve got a bit of a headache,” Anna replied truthfully, “but otherwise I am quite all right, thank you very much.”

He frowned at her. “Where? To the side or in the back? Or more in the front? Does light pain you? Do you feel pain when you move your head?”

Anna blinked. “Nowhere in particular. I am certain it is nothing and it will pass in a moment.”

“Permit me.” Before she could ask what it was she should give permission for, he leaned over, and placed two fingers at her temples, gently pressing down.

Anna yelped.

He released her immediately and placed his fingers right under her jaw.

That was even worse. His fingers were gentle and warm, and she felt heat rushing from her head to the tip of her toes, while her heart thundered like untamed stallions across an open plain.

St John’s eyebrows shot up. “Hm.”

Anna jerked her head away. He reached for her wrist, instead, and measured her pulse.

“You do not appear to have any fever,” he diagnosed.

“I could’ve told you that,” Anna muttered, rubbing the skin on her jaw where his hands had just been. She still felt his touch, and she felt embarrassed, and inexplicably hot.

“Headaches are a very serious matter. One should never ignore them. I shall advise Bilkins to stop at the next inn for some rosemary tea. If necessary, I can give you some laudanum then.”

Anna waved that off. “That certainly won’t be necessary.”

“I insist, Miss Hilversham.”

It was like arguing with a rock. “If you must.” She shrugged.

* * *

It turned out Anna required no laudanum at all, for she eventually drifted off on her own and slept straight through the changing of the horses. The carriage rocked back and forth, causing Anna’s eyes to droop. Phoebe had already fallen asleep, her head heavy against Anna’s shoulder. Now and then a gentle snore escaped her. Anna had tried to shift her to the other side to take the weight off her shoulder, which had started to cramp up, but Phoebe felt comfortable right where she was and insisted on snuggling up to her. Anna spread the woollen blanket over her legs and allowed her to sleep on.

St John sat opposite them, brooding. It was semi-dark and she could only see the whites of his eyes flashing in the darkness. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her ever since they’d entered the carriage.

She’d resolutely avoided looking at him, but she felt it, his stare, boring into her. She must be a sieve by now, if his stare had the power to truly make holes.

It was unnerving.