Her explanation suited his purposes perfectly.
For the first time in days, he found himself pleased by a turn of events.
EIGHTEEN
THAT EVENING, the clink of cutlery on pewter and the buzz of ale-lubricated conversation filled Caithren’s ears as her gaze wandered the well-lit taproom of the Crown Hotel in Bawtry.
She inhaled deeply of a steaming chunk of meat pie before popping it into her mouth. “Not bad for English food,” she admitted around the bite. “Hunger is the best kitchen.”
The Englishman—Mr. Chase—set down his tankard and steepled his fingers. “Translate?”
“Food tastes better when you’re hungry. English food, at any rate.”
Ignoring the barb, Mr. Chase lifted his spoon. She watched him, remembering when she’d first set eyes on him and thought he was handsome—well, except for the King Charles mustache and the beautiful overlong hair. Now he just looked stubborn and irritating.
She deliberately looked away, out one of the Crown Hotel’s large, fine glass windows. Across the street and to the right, candles glinted through the mottled windows of a nice, small plastered inn called the Turnpike. Down on the left sat the Granby Inn, a squat, square building that looked perfectly acceptable.
Mr. Chase had certainly chosen an enormous, expensive hotel. She wondered if he had money. He didn’t look it. But she felt like she was staying in a private mansion. There were marble pillars in the entrance hall. And the hotel had fifty-seven rooms. Fifty-seven!
She wiggled on her chair, which was plush and upholstered and felt luxurious. At home they had only plain wooden chairs around their table. After spending half the day on horseback, the padding was welcome.
“You’ll reach London much faster on horseback than by coach,” Mr. Chase said, interrupting her musings. “This arrangement will work to your benefit.”
“Aye?” She touched her emerald amulet. If all went as planned, this arrangement would end come midnight or so.
“We’ll make it there in five or six days instead of nine. Long before the coach. And I hope before Gothard.”
She took a dainty bite of her pie. “Gothard?” she echoed, unable to resist baiting him.
“Geoffrey Gothard,” he clarified and stabbed his spoon into his own pie.
“Oh, him.” She chortled to herself, peeking at his thunderous expression. He was so serious, this Englishman. “You’d best go faster if you want to catch him. He was fixing to ‘ride like the dickens,’ whatever that means.”
“It means he was planning to ride quickly.” He polished off the last of his bread, studying her with a calculating green gaze. “How is it you know this?”
Cait sighed. “I told you I heard Geoffrey and Wat talking, when I was looking for my brother at Scarborough’s place.”
“Well, we made decent time today.” He flexed his shoulder, a pained look coming over his face. “We shall ride like the dickens, then, and with luck I’ll find the blackguard right off.”
“You’re hoping for luck, are you?” Toying with the handle of her dull pewter tankard, she drew a deep breath. “You can increase your luck by looking for Gothard at the home of someone named Lucas.”
He stopped mid-chew. “Pardon?”
She took time for a sip of ale, half-hoping he would choke from curiosity. “The Gothards are going to London to get something from this man Lucas.” She sipped again. “If he fails to give them what they want, they plan to murder him.”
“Lucas Gothard? They plan to kill the Earl of Scarborough?”
Caithren shrugged. “Is that Scarborough’s given name? Adam didn’t say.”
“What else did they say?”
“You cannot expect me to remember an entire conversation.”
He said nothing, but she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Uncomfortable under his gaze, she reached into her skirt pocket to touch the miniature portrait of Adam. Her one memento of home—and the only thing she had to her name right now, save the clothes on her back.
Mr. Chase was studying her, his eyes narrowed. “Why did you let the Gothards get away?”
“I told you—”
“Yes, and it’s a nice story. Very well done of you. But for you to know this much, well, it’s perfectly clear you’re none other than Emerald MacCallum, and there isn’t a chance you’ll convince me otherwise. Are you going to eat that?” He indicated her bread.
“Help yourself.”
As she watched him reach across and break off a piece, Cait struggled for calm. She’d punished him with silence earlier, but it had been at least as hard on her as it had on him. No sense continuing the unpleasantness when she’d never see him again after tonight. Although if he called her Emerald one more time, a swift kick where it hurt might be in order.
He washed down a second piece of her bread with his ale. “Tell me why you’re looking for your brother.”
His tone implied he was trying to pacify her. That would annoy her if she let it, but she wouldn’t.
Maybe if she told him more of her story, he would come to believe her.
“According to my father’s will, Adam will inherit all of Leslie unless I marry within the year.”
Plates rattled and diners chattered in the background. “And…?”
“Marriage is out of the question.” She flashed him a bright, facetious grin. “I find men far too demanding and controlling.”
He appeared to be coughing up his ale.
“Is something amiss?”
“No.” He thumped himself on the chest, then winced. “Continue.”
“Well, Adam isn’t fit to run Leslie. A restless sort, Adam is. And since I don’t plan to marry, I need his signature on some papers relinquishing his rights to the property in exchange for a generous allowance.” She fixed him with her best accusing glare. “The papers are in my satchel on the coach.”
“I’ll have another set drawn up in London.” He blotted his mouth with his
