Mrs. Baines stepped into the breach, blocking his exit. “Now, my fine gentleman, what’s this I hear about fleas? I’ll have you know there’s never been a flea yet in my inn, and by all accounts you have a reputation for spreading nasty rumors, so . . .”
As Ned swung lithely into the carriage, he heard the sound of raised voices, a grim female one and a light male voice babbling in protest. He grinned. “Your mother is a redoubtable woman,” he told Betty.
“I dunno what that means, sir, but she ain’t one to be crossed, right enough. Serve him right for spreading nasty rumors. Me bed’s as clean as a whistle—all the beds are—and I changed his sheets meself.” She added with a grin. “The wheelwright he’s waitin’ on is me uncle Billy—Ma’s brother—so Lord Fleabit’ll be lucky to get his wheel fixed anytime this week.”
They all laughed. He glanced at Lily. “That wasn’t a bad Yorkshire accent you did before. I was almost fooled myself.”
She smiled. “Betty coached me.”
He suddenly realized there was one passenger less in the carriage. “Where’s your brother, Betty? I promised your mother—”
“Jimmy’s up on top—mad about horses, he is. Wants to drive a coach when he grows up. Mr. Walton said it was all right by him as long as it was all right by you.” She bounced excitedly on the seat, almost dislodging the large covered wickerwork basket beside her. “London, eh? Jimmy and me are that excited. We never been farther than Leeds. I want to thank you, sir, for takin’ us up. Ma said you need me to chaperone Miss Lily, and Jimmy is comin’ to look after me.”
“Yes, and I promised your mother I’d put you on the coach back home myself.”
“But not before you’ve seen the sights of London, eh, Betty?” A tiny smile hovered on Lily’s mouth. He couldn’t look away. “Until this year, I’d never been to London, either, so I’ve promised to show Betty and her brother all the famous places and sights she’s heard about. Only not—” She glanced at Betty, her eyes dancing.
“Turns out the streets ain’t paved with gold, after all,” Betty said in disgust.
Ned smiled faintly at Betty’s naïveté. She’d never been twenty miles past her village, and travelers at the inn had filled her ears with some very tall tales about the nation’s capital. He leaned back in the corner of the coach and let the female chatter wash over him.
They had a grueling journey ahead of them. Normally he wouldn’t attempt to cover that distance in one day, but the longer Lily was away from home, the more likely it was that the story would get out.
He pretended to be gazing out the window, but at a certain angle he could see the pale shadow of Lily’s reflection in the glass. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
He was glad he’d arranged for Betty to come in the carriage. Being alone in the carriage with Lily would have been . . . unbearable.
She would fall asleep eventually—it was a hellishly long journey to make in a day—and if they’d been alone, he would have been obliged to hold her again, to prevent her from falling. He’d have to feel her softness against him, smell the fragrance of her hair and body.
At least she was fully dressed this time. He wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for that or not.
He watched her face in the glass, fascinated by the changing of her expressions, and the sweetness of her. Anyone would think she really was interested in a tavern maid’s conversation.
He’d hired Betty to ensure that everything would be drearily and safely proper and respectable. Everything meaning himself.
What had he been thinking of, kissing Lily last night? And why could he not put the memory of those kisses out of his head?
He’d kissed scores of women, slept with dozens and moved on from them all without regret. Why was this one girl so impossible to dismiss? He was aware of every movement she made, every shift in position. His ear was attuned to the timbre of her voice. And whenever she moistened her lips it was as if he could still taste her.
Fifteen more hours to London.
It occurred to him suddenly that the girls had fallen silent. He focused on Lily’s reflection in the glass and found her staring back at him, or at least his reflection. Or was she staring through his reflection, and beyond to the passing scenery? He couldn’t tell.
She cocked her head and gave him—or the window—a little smile. Did she know he’d been watching her?
He gazed thoughtfully out the window a moment longer, pretending fascination with a flock of sheep, then turned away from the window. “Ah, the bucolic pastoral life. So”—he glanced from one to the other—“run out of things to talk about? It’s going to be a very long journey. I have some things here to help while away the hours.” He opened a small compartment set into the framework of the carriage.
Lily leaned forward eagerly. “My father’s carriage—my brother’s now—has a similar compartment with all sorts of entertainment—card games, puzzles, backgammon and draughts.”
Betty frowned. “Don’t the pieces slip off the board with all this bumping around?”
“No, they’re specially made for traveling,” she explained. “They come in a little wooden box that opens out flat with hinges to form the board. All the pieces have little pegs, and they slot into tiny holes in the board so they don’t slip or fall off when the carriage hits a pothole or bump. Cal’s set has chess pieces too, from India I think, carved in ivory and ebony. It’s beautiful, but I don’t play chess.”
“I have something similar,” Ned said. “But since I was planning for a solo journey, I left the games at home. I think you’ll enjoy these, though.” He pulled out a small stack of books.
To his surprise, Lily made no
