скачать книгу бесплатно
Still, alienating Miss Smith was out of the question. If the woman perceived him as a threat or danger to her person, she’d dismiss him without question, or worse, summon reinforcement to have him removed from her property. Unlocking the most beneficial approach to Miss Smith would take shrewdness and intelligence. Lucky for Reese, he could manage both.
He positioned himself in the shadowy copse of a few alder trees fifty paces from the location to watch and wait. Miss Smith’s address led to a charming cottage, almost storybook-drawn, with smoke coming from the chimney and a whitewashed picket fence that encircled the property. If only he knew Nate played within those walls or ran in the yard fancied with wildflowers and a small vegetable garden, he would storm the door and demand his son’s return, but the matter proved far more complicated. He had no desire to be carted away as a madman, or worse, shot by a pistol-wielding governess. One never knew. He’d risk his own safety in a heartbeat, but his son’s better welfare, absolutely not. Nate had experienced far too much danger in his short childhood already.
After forty-five minutes, he closed his eyes and envisioned Nathaniel as he’d last seen the lad, a chubby four-year-old with more energy than Luke had possessed in what seemed like forever. Alerted by a sound, he was pulled from his fond reverie. He opened his eyes to notice the cottage door ajar. He stepped closer and angled to remain hidden with his line of sight unobstructed.
Miss Smith was a tall woman, dressed in a fine lavender gown and surprisingly bonnet-less. She had a dog at her feet, a small animal the colour of freshly baked bread and as energetic as he’d recalled Nate in his memory. The governess appeared less playful, more prim, a reticule looped over one wrist as she left the stoop, latched the gate and headed towards town with leisurely strides. How opportune. He would follow, but only after he peered into a window or two. The young woman left her curtains open, seemingly without a care in the world. One objective completed. Click.
He made swift work of surveilling the property where he discovered little of interest and no signs of a child. Nathaniel wasn’t there but what did Miss Smith know of the lad’s whereabouts? With the lady in view, he quickened his pace, unwilling to lose sight of his imperative quarry.
Georgina hummed a lively song her mother favoured and drew a deep, cleansing breath, the morning air refreshing and crisp. How she enjoyed the absence of her corset, a luxury not afforded to ladies in London and a silly thing, really. Despite the wicked indulgence, she had no lady’s maid to lace the back so instead wore only short stays, and the personal freedom felt divine. Mother liked to tease that Georgina had received more than her fair share of bosom. Her younger sister, Joy, was slim and willowy, while Georgina was composed of curves, high, full breasts and shapely hips. Hips Mother assured would be valued when the time came for childbearing. Mother had distinct views on most everything, though Georgina remained unconvinced.
How inane the remark seemed now that she’d changed the course of her future. Then, Georgina met her mother’s comments with a fair degree of disdain. The modiste hired to sew their wardrobe preferred her sister’s figure and Georgina suspected most gentlemen did as well. At least her exit from London brought happiness to someone, albeit the dressmaker didn’t matter, did she?
Her rambling thoughts evoked a note of melancholy and obtrusive reminder of the loving affection of her family. How well she missed her parents and sister proved a tinge of regret that had stayed too much with her the past few days. As if Biscuit understood her sudden sadness, he barked, the dog more accustomed to snuggling on her lap or napping in her arms. She swept him up, tucking his petite bottom under her arm against her hip with a fair degree of irony at the convenient purposefulness of her figure.
On the fateful day in London when she’d boldly altered her future, she’d left behind a lengthy letter explaining her decisions and thus removing the responsibility and possibility of scandal from her precious parents. Surely, they were mortified by her sudden disappearance, but Georgina knew her course of action proved in everyone’s best interest despite her mother was fervently devoted to social standings and her father equally concerned with reputation. Why should they suffer the ill effects of her mistake?
After the devastating catastrophe, Georgina deliberated her withdrawal, fearful of ruin and the marring of her sister’s reputation that would ultimately crush suitable prospects for marriage. Her parents knew of her displeasure, though readily had no solution to the problem. No one predicted she’d take matters into her own hands, but it was better this way.
In that same letter, Georgina had promised her parents she would contact them once she settled, but she hadn’t kept her word as of yet. Something held her back, intangible and yet powerful all the same. Still, she wasn’t courageous enough at the moment to examine the cause for her delay.
Her thoughts continued to skip and prance from one conclusion to the next assumption as her boot heels marked steps towards the centre of town. Good heavens, perhaps Joy was engaged by now. What if someone had fallen ill? Circumstances could change greatly and she’d be woefully unaware. A wave of frustration and fear forced emotion to the forefront, but she suffocated her instant curiosity and forced her eyes ahead. Looking back was a path to heartache. She’d made a decision and would adhere to her plan. Determination showed courage rather than cowardice, didn’t it?
With serendipitous opportunity, the village market came into view. Wooden stalls mushroomed in clusters on both sides of the roadway, while wagons, pedestrians and shoppers had just begun to fill the street. She released her lingering regret to focus on the content existence she’d found in Coventry. In familiar routine, she would shop for produce and necessary groceries, greet the merchants she’d come to know, and then return to her cottage with Biscuit for a quiet evening spent reading. Grateful for the situation she’d found considering the dire circumstance she’d abandoned, she smiled and dropped a quick kiss atop the pug’s glossy head, yet the feeling of satisfaction was short-lived.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled to attention and Biscuit gave a frantic squirm in an effort to be let loose. She placed him on the ground and surveyed her surroundings, unnerved and riddled with a fickle twinge of ill ease. Too much thinking likely brought on the disquieting feeling. She best get on with her errands.
Luke trailed behind the proper Miss Smith at a reasonable distance. At first impression, she fit his preconceived notion of a governess. Her hair was pulled into a severe bun and her gown, while a lovely colour, seemed constructed for purpose rather than fashion. Her petite brown half-boots clipped the cobbles in forthright determination as she arrowed towards the centre of town with a squat pug at her feet, the dog’s curly tail bouncing with each step. She almost appeared too refined for the provincial area, but then again, what did he know about country living or prim governesses for that matter? He hadn’t a formal education of any kind and found, more often than not, he was the teacher when it came to lessons, wicked or otherwise.
Blending into the woodpile stacked beside the produce stalls, he watched as Miss Smith tested the ripeness of the apricots offered for sale. He stood not ten strides from her now, able to see her face at conveniently close proximity. His breath might have caught when she laughed at something kind the merchant said. Her eyes twinkled, sparks of blue in the dusky overhang of the stand. Here was no ordinary governess. This woman destroyed any inflexible image he’d reserved for the role; stern spinster, prude ape leader, timid wallflower or likewise.
No, Miss Smith, Georgina, fit none of these descriptions. Her hair, while gathered into a weighty bun, caught rays of sunshine to highlight strands of red mahogany threaded through chestnut tresses. How long could it be? He continued his assessment. No hardship there.
Her delicate features, elegant brows and finely formed nose offset sweet pink lips in the shape of a cupid’s bow. And her skin… Luke rubbed his fingers together in an attempt to cease the desire to smooth over her cheek, the skin looking as tender and delicious as the apricots she poked and prodded.
She leaned forward to catch a runaway fruit that tumbled towards the ground and he groaned. Her figure, composed of ample breasts and a curvaceous bottom, forced purpose from his mind for the briefest instant.
Shaking his head to clear his mind he angled closer as she paid the merchant and continued her sojourn through the stalls. He’d intended to confront her on the walk home, but now thought better of it, a more immediate action demanding attention. Would he frighten her? Desperate to obtain any information she could share about Nate, he would take the risk. He’d gamble any stakes to recover his son.
Perhaps if he approached before she left the safety of the centre surroundings, she’d feel unthreatened and more hospitable. At least that was the lie he told himself. In truth, he wanted to grab Miss Smith by the shoulders and, with a frantic shake, dislodge any clue she might hold, but he’d have no hope at all if he upset her. Unlocking this information would require nimble fingers and a delicate touch. Tricks of the trade he’d lived and breathed since childhood.
Yet he’d be smart to proceed with care. Usually things weren’t as simple as they seemed and he still didn’t know of Miss Smith’s connection to Viscount Dursley. Mayhap she’d already committed to keep the man’s malevolent secret quiet or planned to work with him in a future nefarious plot. There was no way to know and a more cautious tactic proved necessary no matter his impatience.
Georgina finished her purchases and set a quick pace towards home with Biscuit at her feet. Something had disturbed her as she shopped at the market today, though, from appearances, everything remained as always. Still, there were distinct moments when she’d paused to dash a look to her surroundings, the weight of someone’s eyes setting her pulse into a fast rhythm. Could her parents have hired a runner to find her? It seemed the only logical explanation for the unexpected anxiety she experienced. Lord Tucker had left for London days earlier and the respected gentleman wouldn’t skulk about town but address her directly had he a reason to seek her out. He practised decorum, the epitome of respectability. Furthermore, no one else knew she lived in Coventry, the admission sad by its necessity.
Dismissing her ill ease, she quickened her pace and was almost returned to her cottage when she noticed a lone man on the opposite side of the roadway, his attention trained on her every movement. Biscuit growled, his ears perked, and she bustled him into her arms as she accomplished the front steps and retrieved her key with practised alacrity. Her heart beat hard and at the same time she chided her foolish reaction to what likely was nothing more than an unfamiliar neighbour out for a stroll. It was possible his horse had lost a shoe or he visited a friend, for she’d never seen the likes of him in Coventry before. Unlike London, with its overwhelming population and vigorous social schedule, Coventry was an uneventful, mundane neighbourhood where most everyday proved predictable. There could be plentiful reasons to explain this man’s presence.
Shutting the door firmly, she slid the lock and fell against the panel to heave a sigh of relief. She’d never felt unsafe before and would not begin now. Dismissing her mother’s voice in her head, which warned of a bounty of perils aimed at the gentler sex, Georgina reserved no room in her life for foolish assumptions. She placed Biscuit before his water bowl and moved towards the kitchen to deposit her purchases in the pantry at the same time a sturdy knock sounded on the door. The stranger from across the street? Whatsoever could he want? Was he sent by her parents to find her? And what if he was? Or worse, what if he wasn’t?
With her mind a riot and an alerted pug at her heels, she cracked the front door open no more than the width of two fingers.
‘Miss Smith?’
The stranger looked normal enough, though she honestly had no way to judge. London and high society hadn’t prepared her for situations like this. With a sad note of realization, her mother’s copy of Debrett’s social registry and its formal listing of introductions for fancy ballrooms seemed to exist a lifetime ago.
‘Yes?’ Should she not have confirmed he addressed her by the correct name? How did he come to know her name? Botheration, she wasn’t very good at subterfuge. Honesty was her code and thereby left her with few decisions when faced with fleeing London and perpetrating an invented existence.
‘May I speak to you a moment?’
He sounded kind from what she could discern with her one eye, for that was all the space allowed, and he appeared harmless, though Biscuit growled. How unlike her dog.
‘You may.’ She didn’t open the door wider, not even a hair’s breadth, and the momentary pause offered the opportunity to further evaluate the stranger and put an end to her irrational concerns. He was tall, neatly dressed in a linen shirt and jacket over riding breeches. His boots were dust-covered, though he was otherwise clean. Dark hair and a strong jaw mimicked the demanding tone in his voice, for when he asked the question it sounded as if he expected her to answer in the positive.
‘Like this?’ His query expressed limited patience. ‘I will remain two strides away on the slate path if you’ll open the door to allow a discussion and hear me out.’
‘You are an unknown visitor and I am a single woman alone in this house.’ Perhaps again, she’d provided too much information. ‘I’m sorry but I have no time for conversation.’ She shut the door tightly. How poorly she’d handled the confrontation. Leaning towards the front window, she peered through a slit in the curtains to see if the stranger had left, but he now stood near the gate, seemingly fraught with indecision as he glanced to the front of her home and then towards the street twice in quick succession.
Why was he here? As if he understood her hesitation or somehow heard her question, he again advanced up the walkway. His deep voice echoed through the door with another attempt to gain her attention. Still she couldn’t understand a word he said as Biscuit let loose a series of objectionable barks, sharp and angry. Her heart raced no matter her brain insisted she calm. Was she acting with prudence or in the manner of a spineless ninny?
‘Hush, Biscuit.’ She picked up the dog and brought him to her chest. ‘Let me listen a moment.’ The pug quieted to a low growl.
‘I only need to ask you a few questions. I’m trying to locate someone. Will you allow me to explain?’
Her brows drew together in question. Locate someone? How could she possibly help? She was fairly new to the area and most definitely content with the anonymity she’d found in Coventry. Was he sent to locate her? Something in his voice expressed earnest, desperate concern. Would she be the biggest fool to open the door to this stranger?
She glanced through the curtains again and watched as the stranger raked his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration, his expression of equalled disgruntlement. Sunlight glinted off his thumb. Did he wear a ring there? How unusual. She continued her perusal of his every detail noting his shoulders were as tense as the sharp set of his jaw. A runner wouldn’t act in such a manner as if he had emotion invested in the outcome. Still, she was alone, a female in a cottage with no means of protection. There was nothing of value to steal within these walls. Unless… her heart leapt in her chest. Were she to open the door he might take complete advantage. Good heavens, he could ravish her. Every horrifying warning her mother had drilled into her head since childhood rallied to support the illogical suggestion.
Good heavens, she calmed herself. Surely men who intended to force themselves on unsuspecting women didn’t knock on the front door to do so. Dark alleyways and dangerous alcoves seemed more the thing. Her thoughts became a jumble of emotion and shredded logic.
His thunderous knock interrupted her befuddlement and she jumped away from the door as Biscuit produced another string of barks in tune to the staccato of her pulse.
‘Please.’
The word penetrated her fear and everything fell into stillness. The desperation in that one syllable spoke to her heart. Surely an investigator or Bow Street runner would not employ heartfelt sentiment or agonizing plea to beg her attention. Her resolve cracked, whether for the worse or better she could not know, compelled to answer the man.
She leaned against the door and spoke loud and clear. ‘Meet me in the town square tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. There’s a small corner establishment named Ellen’s Tearoom. I’ll speak to you when I’m safely amidst others.’
Tea? He would drink poison if it returned Nathaniel to him. Aware Miss Smith watched from the front window, he nodded and left her property straight after. He’d unsettled her enough for one day, so tomorrow would have to suffice. Locked up tight behind her cottage door, he’d failed to gain more than an arranged meeting in town, but wasn’t willing to take the chance he’d spur the young lady into fleeing or sending a message to his half-brother. He had no way to understand her involvement until he pressed her for answers in the morning.
And that was why, after he’d checked on Snake Eyes and finished a simple meal, he returned to watch the cottage through the evening hours. Miss Smith was the only lifeline he had to Nathaniel at the moment. He had little idea what his half-brother wanted, Dursley’s denial of the abduction a repetitive argument that led to no end. And with no ransom note, extortion attempt or other motivation for Nate’s disappearance, he could only pursue the governess and hope, mayhap pray, a habit he’d never practised, that she knew something to assist his search.
Chapter Three (#ulink_46983147-9f36-5222-bc41-dae68d336903)
Having a nocturnal lifestyle proved its advantages. The ability to prowl about as if invisible was a skill learned as a child on the streets of Charing Cross where Luke would steal fruit and other bits of food without detection. Later, as a grown man, he’d honed the practice to perfection whenever a fast departure proved necessary, out a window or down a trellis to escape an angered husband, often leaving behind a satisfied lady who welcomed his affection but not his reputation.
He’d watched the cottage until midnight, although a light hadn’t shown in the window since ten in the evening, and then he’d muttered a Good night, Miss Smith and returned to the inn. She was a creature of the daylight and his opposite, no doubt, though he would take no chances.
Now, as he waited from afar, the governess approached the teashop without the company of her dog, her ungloved hands poised against the simple lines of her day gown. He couldn’t help but notice the soft sashay of her hips, though her face expressed a businesslike demeanour and he wondered again if she worked in collusion with Dursley or was an innocent victim, the same as he.
‘Miss Smith, thank you for agreeing to this meeting.’ He pushed from the corner of the teashop and forced a smile, impatience prodding he get their conversation underway.
‘How do you know my name?’ She reared back, another layer of defence added to the tightly secured countenance she’d brought to the teashop instead of her pug.
‘I’m Mr Reese. Luke, if you’d like. Now that we know each other’s name there’s no room for enmity. I assure you I mean no harm. Let’s find a table and order refreshment while I explain.’ He didn’t leave her time to object and opened the shop door to motion her inside where he obtained a table and requested a pot of tea. How he would have preferred a brandy despite it was barely ten in the morning. When she’d brushed past him at the entrance he’d thought he detected the scent of apricots, but dismissed this as foolishness, most especially when the vibrant interior of the cheerful shop smelled of steeped black tea leaves.
‘Very well then. How may I help you, Mr Reese?’ She placed her reticule on the damask tablecloth and he noticed her long, delicate fingers trembled for a reason he could not imagine.
‘I’m looking for someone and hope you’ll assist in my search.’
She waited, not a question on her lips, though he noticed she nibbled the lower one in hesitation or unfounded trepidation.
‘My son was taken from me and I need to locate his whereabouts.’ There was no easy way to phrase it and the automatic assumption that he’d done something wrong or perpetuated an offence which had led to the removal of his son was something he was fully prepared to defend. ‘His name is Nathaniel and I believe you may know him.’
‘Nate?’ Miss Smith’s eyes lit with instant recognition and his heart nearly leapt from his chest. ‘But that can’t be true.’ She shook away her immediate response. ‘Nathaniel’s father is deceased. His uncle cares for him now.’
Bloody hell, he would kill his half-brother for that lie.
‘That’s not the truth. I am his father.’ He hastily accepted the teapot and service from the shop’s girl, anxious for her to rid the table so he could continue. ‘And I’m desperate to find him. Do you know where he is?’
‘I see it now.’ She smiled, seemingly more at ease. ‘The dark hair and light eyes, although yours are almost silver, aren’t they?’ She leaned forward slowly, her eyes matched with his. ‘Nate’s possessed a bluer hue.’
Engrossed in her description, she appeared unaware how he hung on each word, though his heart overflowed with relief. She knew Nate and possibly his current whereabouts.
‘With regret, I haven’t seen Nathaniel in almost a year or else I might be of better assistance.’ She looked down at her cup and took a polite sip of tea.
Wrong – she didn’t know where Nate was at the moment. His chest grew tight as disappointment and anger were fast to smother hope. Yet all wasn’t lost. ‘Can you tell me everything you know of your interaction and the situation that brought you together?’ He tasted the pungent brew in his cup and again wished for brandy, although Miss Smith seemed pleased enough and daintily wiped her mouth after another sip.
‘You must be out of your mind with worry.’ Her features softened and her eyes found his, searching over his face and back again with sincere sympathy.
She too had lovely blue eyes, almost the same shade as Nate, and long, graceful lashes. Now he viewed her closely, the governess proved quite pretty, some might even suggest fetching, in a fresh, uncontrived manner. He saw compassion in her eyes, and a new understanding of his predicament. Truly the qualities spoke of a genuine soul. ‘Yes. Perhaps with this new knowledge, you’ll excuse my poor manners at your doorstep yesterday.’
‘Of course. I had no idea and with worries of my own…’ Her voice trailed off, a signal she did not wish to elaborate. ‘I’m glad to tell you everything I know if it helps you locate your son. Your wife, how is she? She must be inconsolable. By heavens, I would be. The circumstances are terrible.’
Her honest empathy soothed the unrelenting ache that lived inside him always, the desperate pain of hopelessness that increased each day he was unable to care for Nate, tuck him in at bedtime, hear his laughter or ensure he was safe. His brother had stolen parental privilege and paternal responsibility for no reason Luke could fathom. ‘Nate’s mother died three years ago. I doubt he has any clear memories of her although they share the same smile. At least she’s not here to see how I’ve failed in taking care of our son.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She fiddled with her teacup at his bold confession. ‘It’s easy to see you are father and son. The man who placed Nate in my care for three weeks also possessed similar colouring.’
‘My half-brother, Viscount Dursley.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And before you suggest I seek legal recourse, you should know I was born on the wrong side of the blanket that deems my word worthless when spoken in challenge of a peer. I’m also a proprietor of The Underworld gaming hell.’
She didn’t answer immediately despite her eyes flared with his last sentence. ‘Yes, Dursley, that’s how the viscount introduced himself, and for Nate he neglected use of the surname Reese.’
‘His lie concerning Nate’s parentage is just one in a long string of mistruths. He most likely changed my son’s name to fit his purpose.’
‘Sometimes people have no other choice.’ She seemed reluctant to continue for a beat and her delicate brows trestled with worry. ‘The viscount hired me as governess and paid me beforehand. When the three-week period concluded, he collected your son with no further word.’ A look of anguish flittered across her face as if disappointed with her involvement. ‘I never thought to ask more questions. Nate looked neither neglected nor unhappy. I didn’t believe it my place to pry and all appeared in order.’
‘As would be expected.’ He swallowed the bitter tea in his cup to wash away the taste of failure. There had to be more to the story. This couldn’t be all he’d gain from the only clue he possessed. He rejected that reality. ‘I’ve gathered bits of information here and there to indicate my half-brother is shuttling Nate to different locations in an attempt to keep his presence untraceable. I’ve had his townhouse watched for periods of time, his country estate, as well as any other place I could imagine he’d bring my son, but the search has yielded nothing.’
‘I see.’ She toyed with the handle of her teacup as if hesitant to continue. ‘You would be proud, if I may be so bold. Nathaniel is a fine young lad, bright as a new star and handsome to boot.’ She smiled and it eased the tightness in his chest another degree.
‘Thank you for that.’ The governess was kind as well as beautiful. Despite he lived daily with serious considerations on his mind, his body worked on another more elemental level, and he couldn’t help but notice the brilliance of Miss Smith’s smile and lovely appeal. ‘I find strength in the knowledge that Nathaniel is safe despite his whereabouts remain unknown. I don’t believe my half-brother will harm my son, but one can never be sure. People show different faces to the world depending on their necessity. Dursley perpetuates a veneer of honesty but he is no more than a manipulative cur.’ Her teacup rattled on the saucer as she replaced it. Perhaps he’d spoken too vehemently. ‘My apologies.’ He regretted upsetting her.
‘Think nothing of it.’
Georgina watched Mr Reese and admired his courageous determination. His half-brother had stolen his only child, his wife had died… how much was one individual expected to endure? She tried to imagine the pain he held in check and failed. If she ever fell in love she wanted it to be for ever, a long, happy life with several children as delightful as Nate.
What would Mr Reese think if he discovered the lie she lived each day? Governess? Smith? Neither were true. Perhaps he would never need to know, their association short-lived. She hoped so because somehow the unforgivable notion of disappointing Mr Reese, Luke, threatened to stay with her indefinitely. She could not be the cause of further betrayal, another thorn in his heart. His final words struck a personal chord.
With her guilt overflowing, she vowed to pen a letter to her parents that evening, assure them of her safety and wellbeing and bring it to post tomorrow first thing. It was the least she could do to ease their concern. How selfishly she’d behaved. Perhaps they worried in the same tormenting manner Mr Reese agonized over Nate’s whereabouts and security.
Now to assuage Mr Reese’s concern. When she looked into his lovely grey eyes, her heart raced with anxious ambition to soothe his suffering. ‘Nathaniel was very happy in my care. He took to Biscuit right away and the two would play for hours in the garden when he finished his letters and numbers.’
Mr Reese’s brows rose as if surprised.
‘Does he not ordinarily enjoy dogs?’
‘No, not that. Your pug.’ He laughed a low chuckle that skittered through her. ‘The name suits.’ Then he flashed a grin and she couldn’t help notice the dimple in his right cheek. Nate had a smaller mark, a precursor of the lethal weapon his appeal would wield one day. In kind, it seemed Mr Reese had no idea of the power in that charming dimple. His smile proved an armament of great impact. Were he to turn that flirtatious grin on any available female, all defences would crumble in less than an instant. Hers certainly did.
She stared at his face a moment longer, her intent focus on his mouth, her throat gone dry. This was no child in front of her, this was a man. A very handsome man with silver-grey eyes, obsidian hair, and a fading smile which reminded by way of dimple he had one purpose in life: to find his son. Botheration, she needed to get her imagination under control before she fantasized all sorts of inappropriate suggestions that had nothing to do with the singular reason Mr Reese had sought her out in the first place.
‘Viscount Dursley paid me in cash and left no address. Unfortunately, that’s all I know.’ Wishing she could supply more and ease his worry, she touched her hand to his sleeve, surprised at the strength beneath the cloth, allstrong, hard muscle, and forced herself to draw back, though an equalled desire insisted she pull forward instead. ‘I’m happy to have reassured you although I feel at a loss in furthering your pursuit of Nathaniel. Is there another way I can help?’ There must be something she could do. She’d truly enjoyed the short time she’d cared for Nate. How wretched the circumstance now she’d learned the truth. She’d only just met Mr Reese but his predicament warranted she assist in his search in any manner possible.
He remained quiet a beat too long. Did he consider her offer with great intent or become lost in a remembrance of his precious son? Where had his mind darted? Another beat and his eyes caught hers with a keen interest she found mesmerizing, as if he worked to decipher her, unlock her resistance and steal the contents of her thoughts. When at last he spoke, his words shocked her to the core.
‘Yes, thank you, I accept your gracious offer. We’ll leave for London first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘London.’ She gasped, the two syllables strangling her throat. ‘I can’t go to London.’ Outrage, surprise, panic; all three rose in protestation to jade her objection in high pitch as she jumped from her chair, nearly upsetting the tea service in the process.
‘Wait, please, Miss Smith.’ His voice sounded a distant call amidst the ambient conversations at the other tables.
He rose as well but it was too late. Her heart hammered faster than her heels tapped retreat on the wooden floor, a hollow, jarring sound that echoed in her pulse and labelled her a coward. She couldn’t go to London. She’d run from London. Fled the horrid circumstances created by her foolish choices and naïve stupidity. No, London was out of the question and she was out the door.
She knew he would follow her, his cause more precious than hers, more desperate too. Mr Reese sought to find his child and, as it should be, would not take her refusal without a fight. Still, a shade of sadness accompanied the acknowledgement because she would not return to London. She couldn’t. Not ever.
Chapter Four (#ulink_b2b60566-7023-5023-8896-d311498ef791)
‘Wait.’ Luke managed to catch Miss Smith with little effort, his stride eating up the pavement and falling into pace beside her before he lost breath. ‘Please allow me to explain.’
‘There’s no need.’ She didn’t look at him. Gone was the congenial kindness and soft-spoken sincerity witnessed at the teahouse. Miss Smith appeared as scared as a hunted rabbit, dashing glances to the roadway and beyond to the horizon, her blue eyes alight with a wild gleam. From what did she run? Her hurried escape provided all the evidence needed to realize she feared something, some scandal or danger. Frightened to a degree that she would change her name and avoid a city of thousands.
He continued his pursuit though the puzzling reaction wouldn’t release his curiosity. He hardly knew the woman, yet some part of him worried for her predicament. She’d cared for Nate and shown kindness to his son. From what she’d mentioned, Nate enjoyed the time spent in her charge. At the least he owed her a little latitude in her unexpected reaction.
She scurried up the slates in front of her cottage, her hand at work inside her reticule for the key. He couldn’t allow her to enter without hearing him out. He needed to change her mind. He had to. It was his only hope. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard, forcing it away. ‘Miss Smith, if you’ll listen a moment about London.’
Two paces from the front door she whirled in his direction, an immediate objection on her lips, but the motion, combined with her harried steps, caused the key to fall straight into the flowerbed beside the path. He leapt to recover it first, only meaning to hold it hostage long enough to gain her attention, but the lady bent twice as quickly and snatched the key along with a wayward flower stem. She inserted the key into the lock before he could stop her, because, aside from words, what other means did he have? He wouldn’t lay a hand on her person and dare frightening her further.
‘Miss Smith.’ He watched in dejected frustration as the door opened. ‘Georgina, please!’
‘No. I said no.’ She fairly shouted her refusal and pushed the door open, but in a blur of beige Biscuit shot across the threshold, the pug’s pernicious snarls startling Miss Smith as much as he. Who would expect such vigilant protection from the pint-sized pup?
