“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 and urbane persiflage of the sort that often went right over Lily’s head, the kind of man who would flirt charmingly with Rose and George, who were beautiful, and would look right through Lily, who wasn’t.
Edward hadn’t looked right through her, but neither had he flirted. He’d been brusque and bossy, remote and sometimes curt, and yet, underneath it all, he’d been... kind. Protective. Considerate.
He was, she decided, a puzzle.
A yawn surprised her. She ought to prepare for bed. She laid out the thick flannel nightgown Betty had lent her, but before she could undo a button or a lace, there was a brisk knock at the door and he was back, a heavy brown cloak draped over his arm and a pair of sturdy lace-up leather shoes dangling from his fingers.
“You’ll need proper shoes, not slippers, if we’re going to take a walk,” he said, giving them to her. “Two steps outside and those slippers will be soaked through.”
“But I thought—”
“There’s a way out the back. Elphingstone’s in the taproom at the front. The girl—Betty, is it?—will keep watch for him. If you still want to go for a walk, that is.”
She did. She swiftly donned the shoes—Betty’s again—doubling the woolen stockings under her feet and tying the laces firmly so that the slightly-too-big shoes were snug and comfortable. She fastened the cloak and tugged the deep hood up to ensure her face was well hidden. Despite its heavily practical fabric and color, a jaunty little gold silk tassel was fastened to the tip of the hood. The small touch of frivolity made Lily smile.
Ten minutes later she and Edward were walking along a narrow path that led between the houses behind the inn and up toward the hills that overlooked the village. The night was dark, with fitful glimpses of moonlight showing between the scudding clouds. They passed the last few houses in the village, warm and cozy-looking, their lamplit windows gleaming golden squares defying the night.
They trudged along the path, skirting a dense thicket of trees, making for the top of the hill silhouetted against the night sky. He’d adjusted his long-legged gait to hers. There was something so special in walking along in the night, side by side, alone and yet together.
“This is lovely,” she murmured.
“Lovely? It’s dam—dashed cold. Are you warm enough?”
“Perfectly warm, thank you. This cloak is very thick.” Her face was actually quite cold and her hands were chilled, but she didn’t mind. Betty hadn’t provided gloves and Lily hadn’t thought of them until they were well away from the inn. She’d been wearing long white evening gloves when she’d been abducted. What had happened to them? She had no idea. Not that satin evening gloves would be at all warm.
Besides, cold hands didn’t matter a jot compared with the exhilaration of tramping along in the darkness, breathing in the moist, crisp air, putting the horrid events of the last two days behind her. The bath, the meal and now the cold, brisk air acted like a purge, making her feel clean and whole and herself again, scouring away the memory of the sourness, the fear, the shameful helplessness.
She’d survived; she was free. Nobody could force her to marry. She belonged to herself again. And to her family.
“Whoops!” she exclaimed lightly as she skidded in a patch of mud.
“Here, take my arm.” Without waiting for her agreement, he tucked her arm into the crook of his. Warmth flowed into her chilled fingers.
