He brooded over that insight as the girl bustled about, swiftly clearing the table and passing the dirty dishes to her brother to stack onto a tray.
The people he’d expected to see at the house party? He wouldn’t miss any of them. He doubted they’d miss him, either.
Several of the women invited had given him subtle but unmistakable indications that he’d be welcome in their bed, but he was under no illusions as to the significance of that. If he didn’t turn up they’d find another willing man. There would be no shortage of substitutes.
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. Was his life really so meaningless? He lifted his tankard and drank the last of the landlord’s good dark ale.
“Shall I bring you up some more ale, sir?” the girl asked. Ned shook his head, and she and her brother swept from the room. The gooseberry pudding sat on the table in front of him, golden and luscious, steaming softly. Lily was staring at it, as if half mesmerized.
“A little pudding?” he asked her.
“I shouldn’t . . . But it looks and smells so delicious . . . Perhaps just a taste.” He cut two generous portions of the pudding, poured custard over each, and passed the smaller bowl to her.
“I take it we are agreed that you will return to London with me, and no further argument.” It wasn’t a question.
She sighed. “I suppose so. Though I don’t like to cause you so much tr—”
“Nonsense.” He cut her off brusquely. “It will be my pleasure to escort you.” And to his surprise he realized it was true. He would much rather spend sixteen uncomfortable hours in a coach with Lily Rutherford—half drugged or not—than spend a week in the bed of one of the jaded ladies of the house party.
Only because he owed her a duty of care, for the sake of her brother, he told himself. His honor—what was left of it—required it.
She finished her pudding with every evidence of enjoyment and sighed as she set down her spoon. “Now I really am full. I think perhaps I’d like to go for a walk, just a short walk to stretch my legs.”
“Not tonight, you won’t.”
She glanced at the window. “But it’s stopped raining.”
“I don’t care about the weather.” His voice was grim. “You’re not leaving this room until I say so.”
Her eyes widened, and Ned cursed himself for a fool. Of course, given her recent experience, she’d put the worst interpretation on his words. He hastened to explain. “Nothing to worry about, just that you can’t go wandering around the inn or the village. If you are to emerge from this mess without damage to your reputation, nobody must learn you were ever missing from your brother’s care. Nobody must see you—I mean nobody from our world, nobody who might recognize you.”
Her face fell. “I know. But surely in this little out-of-the-way place—
He shook his head. “There’s a fellow downstairs who’s a notorious society gossip. He’s an irritating little tick, but he’s seen everywhere—you might even know him. Cyril Elphingstone?”
“Elphingstone . . .” A soft crease formed between her brows. “Is he a slender, nattily dressed man with a pointy nose and extraordinary chestnut-colored hair?”
“That’s him in a nutshell. That’s if chestnut is a sort of reddish-brown.”
“It is. He’s a friend—well, an acquaintance—of my Aunt Agatha. I don’t like him very much. He always has some story to tell that’s often rather nasty underneath. My sister, Rose, calls him ‘the gnat.’”
“Very apt. The thing is, when we were downstairs earlier, he overheard the girl refer to you as my sister. He knows perfectly well I haven’t got a sister.”
“Oh.”
He nodded. “That long nose of his was twitching with curiosity. He did his best to discover who you were, but I put him off.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Just that I was escorting a young relative to London, and of course, he doesn’t believe that, either.”
“Why not? Does he know all your relatives, then?”
Ned opened his mouth to explain, then shook his head. There was nothing to be gained by telling her that no one in their right mind would entrust a beautiful young woman to a man of his reputation. Not that he’d ever been accused of trifling with innocents. In fact, he avoided them like the plague. He preferred women of experience, women who knew what they wanted—his body, not his name.
“It’s Elphingstone’s nature to be suspicious,” he said. “Anything for a good story, I suspect, so don’t step outside this door unless I tell you it’s safe.”
Her mouth drooped. “I suppose you’re right, it’s just that—I know discretion is important, but—” She shook her head. “No, I’m being silly, wanting to go for a walk. I can walk with my sisters when we get home again.” Her lower lip wobbled. She bit on it and turned her head away so he wouldn’t see.
And suddenly Ned realized. She’d spent most of the last two days locked in a tiny, dark, airless compartment, bound and gagged, unable to move. She’d told him how she couldn’t lift her arms, not even to adjust the gag, how it had felt like she was locked in a coffin, and how she’d done her best to keep sensation alive in her feet. And how painful the pins and needles had been when she was finally able to walk again.
Of course she wanted to go outside and stretch the muscles that had been cramped for so long. And to breathe in the fresh air, and to loosen the tension he could see still gripped her body, despite the rest and the bath and the food.
Instead Ned had confined her to a poky little room, and all because of an irritating little busybody. She didn’t deserve that.
“Wait here,” he told her, and left the room.
Lily was surprised at his abrupt exit, but then she was finding Edward Galbraith surprising in a number of ways. She’d believed him the sort of desperately sophisticated gentleman that Aunt Agatha favored, spouting witty
