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Mr. Steele’s response came from before her in the darkness. “No, this is Masbury, I believe. Ashwick is next.”
She blinked, eying his darkened profile as he stared out of the window. With a slow nod, she leaned her head back against the coach and stared through the glass herself.
A man walked by with a lantern, and she winced at the jarring light in the darkness. Blinking, she allowed her eyes to adjust, looking past the guard who stood at the side of the coach.
“Are those men approaching passengers?” Mr. Steele whispered.
Marianne had already seen the two men coming toward them. She narrowed her eyes. One looked like…No. No, she would not make that mistake again.
Yet, as he drew closer, her heart thumped painfully against her chest. “Mr. Barton,” she breathed. “That is one of Father’s business acquaintances. I’m certain this time.”
Mr. Steele was already nodding. “I recognize him from the Blue Boar.”
“Is he coming on the coach?” she asked, her mind spinning.
What was the man doing there so late at night? A distant memory of Father saying Mr. Barton’s place of residence was in Masbury flashed through her mind, but she could not be sure.
She pushed the thought aside as he drew closer with another man she did not recognize. She prayed they would walk straight past the coach, but as he continued forward, she knew the worst was to occur.
If they were discovered, he was sure to tell Father. Mr. Steele would lose his job, and Marianne would lose her father’s trust.
“They’re coming aboard,” Mr. Steele said. “Shift closer to Jane.”
“What?” she asked in a daze.
“Shift closer to Jane,” he commanded again.
He stood from his seat, hunched over beneath the shortened height of the carriage roof. Swiftly, she obeyed, sliding closer to Jane as Mr. Steele whirled around to sit beside Marianne.
He patted his shoulder. “Rest your head here.”
She stared at his shoulder in alarm. If they were found in that manner, surely…
“It will be easier for the two of us to hide together,” he explained with hurried words. “Quickly now. They are coming.”
With stilted breaths, she did as she was told, bending her neck at a rigid angle to rest the slightest of touches against his shoulder.
“You must be more convincing than that, Miss Coventry.”
He brought his hand against the side of her head, gently coaxing her closer until her cheek and temple rested fully against the side of his arm and lower shoulder. He reached over, pulling her cloak to cover her face, his fingertips brushing against her cheek in the process. “Can you breathe?”
No, no, she could not. But she nodded all the same.
Her heart beat wildly, though she was no longer sure it was because of Mr. Barton’s approach. Mr. Steele’s cologne tickled her nose, and his broad shoulder pressed hard against her temple.
He shifted once, then the door opened, and he grew still, steadying his breathing to feign sleep.
She attempted to do the same, squeezing her eyes closed, despite her face not being visible to others.
The coach shifted back and forth under the weight of the two gentlemen entering the carriage. Their voices were loud before they no doubt noticed the other three supposedly sleeping passengers, then their whispered tones followed.
Marianne was certain she had never prayed so greatly before in all her life. They could not be discovered. Not now, when they were so close to escape.
The door closed, the crack of the whip sounded, and the coach jerked forward. Before long, the gentlemen’s conversation ended, and a soft snoring exuded from the mouth of one.
Marianne attempted to count down the moments that ticked by, but in the slower-moving coach—due to the darkness of the night—it was impossible to measure. Not to mention the fact that she was utterly and thoroughly distracted by the man whose arm she lay against.
His breathing was steady, too steady to be feigned. Had he fallen asleep? Carefully, she leaned back and stole a glance at him. His hat covered most of his face, his hand resting against the brim of it to keep it up.
