Damsel in Disguise (8 page)

“I think perhaps we’ve all traveled enough for this day,” he said, deciding his brain could stand a rest if he was now starting to question the answers and motives of these innocent and abused women. “There is a posting house nearby. Would you care for an escort there?”

“That would be lovely, sir,” she said with the best smile her battered face could muster.

“I’ll go speak with your driver,” Rastmoor said. “We can take our uninvited guest there and inform the local magistrate what has occurred.”

The woman’s face clouded. “Oh, yes, I suppose we will have to do that, won’t we?”

I’m sure it will all be over soon,” Rastmoor assured her. “The situation is clear. The law will have no difficulty determining the charges.”

Indeed, the local magistrate would likely thank them for ridding the world of one unsavory highwayman. The ladies would soon be back on their journey and Julia would probably not even need to reveal her true name. Rastmoor glanced over at her, still carrying herself in that dreadful impersonation of a man as she made small talk with Mrs. Ashton and pretended to be busy inspecting the horses. It was laughable, really. How had he for one minute thought her to be male? She moved with that supple grace she’d always had, a feminine, feline quality that seduced him right from the start.

He’d not be seduced now, however. He knew her for what she was. His heart was safe from her this time. He suspected, though, that was because he no longer had a heart.

They accompanied the ladies back to the posting house. Julia wasn’t entirely sure it was wise to return, but most likely their assailant from earlier had gone. If anyone had seen them leave, they certainly would not have expected them to return. She supposed they’d be as safe here as anywhere else, considering she had no idea who was after them.

But what of Sophie? How safe was she? The longer they waited, the farther out of their reach Lindley could carry her. She hoped once Rastmoor had their prisoner turned over to the magistrate and the ladies settled in for the night, they could be off again, unpleasant as it seemed to go riding off into the darkness. Unfortunately, that was not to be the plan.

It was well after eight o’clock now, fully night. The magistrate was not able to attend them yet. They’d been asked to spend the night and meet with him in the morning. Julia had nothing to do but pen up her impatience and be glad for the fact that she and Rastmoor were sitting in a crowded common room. At least here he had little opportunity to confront her about, well, everything.

He would, no doubt, have questions. And they would not be pleasant, she could be sure. Though, she couldn’t blame him for hating her, not really. Heaven knew she’d hated herself plenty over these last years. She’d been foolish and irresponsible, and it cost a man his good name. Moreover, it had cost a good friend her life.

Julia sipped at her warm ale, staring aimlessly at the floor. Rastmoor sat nearby, but neither of them cared to talk. Other patrons in the room laughed and enjoyed themselves around them. Their merriment sounded foreign to Julia’s ears. Then again, she doubted any of these others had just killed a man. Or seen the cold reality of hatred on a lover’s face.

No, she wasn’t much up for conversation.

Their prisoner was being kept safely in the stable, and the two ladies they had rescued were settled upstairs in their room. They were a Mrs. Smith and her young friend, Mrs. Ashton with baby Sam. Julia forgot where they said they were traveling, and really, it didn’t matter much. She and Rastmoor would see the magistrate and then she’d be gone in search of Sophie long before the ladies were up and about tomorrow. Fortunately, though, they
would
be up and about come tomorrow morning, rather than the alternative that damned highwayman had planned for them.

Julia supposed she looked as morose and depressed as she felt, so naturally she was surprised when a jovial older man came into the room and moved to sit at the table near her. His ruddy face seemed to indicate he’d not necessarily waited until arriving here to refresh himself with spirits of some sort.

“Sorry lot we’ve got in here this evening, isn’t it?” he said.

Julia realized he was speaking to her, so she nodded in polite agreement. He seemed to take that as encouragement for small talk. Indeed, his breath proved her earlier speculation had been accurate.

“I ’spose you’re traveling somewhere?” he asked.

Julia nodded again, wondering why of all the others in the room this man had descended upon her. Probably because everyone else was already engaged in conversation or flirting with the four or five women who appeared to be here for no other reason than to provide friendly conversation—and perhaps a little bit more.

“Coming from something or going to it?” the man asked.

“Pardon me?” she responded.

“Traveling to,” Rastmoor said from his position two chairs away.

“Ah, traveling together?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Rastmoor said before Julia could answer.

Well, that was a bit presumptuous. So far she got the idea Rastmoor was as eager to be rid of her tomorrow as she was of him. Now he was declaring them travel companions? Well, she’d see about that.

“My companion and I are traveling together on business,” she said, making it very plain this was not a pleasure trip. “Are you also traveling?”

The man appeared genuinely glad for someone to talk to, and he launched happily into a recounting of his days on the road. They’d been remarkably uneventful, yet somehow he found much to say about them. Julia was keeping herself awake by drawing on her acting skills and feigning interest, but she did have to admit at least it was better to be bored to death by the man’s repetitive rambling than to be sitting here just a few feet from Rastmoor and not have a clue what was going on in his head. Right now it was easy to see what he was thinking, though. He was bored to death, just as she was.

Good. Served him right.

“I say, you’ve got deuced long eyelashes for a bloke,” the man said, abruptly breaking off his discourse and staring at Julia.

“I, er, it runs in the family, sir,” she said, and wished—oddly enough—she had that blasted mustache back to hide behind. The man was studying her so carefully she wondered if he wasn’t beginning to figure her out.

“Had a dog once with deuced long eyelashes,” the man said.

Rastmoor laughed. Julia glared at him. At least she knew what was running through his mind now. He was enjoying the thought of comparing her to a dog. Well, she could name off half a dozen unsavory beasts she might choose to compare him to, as well.

“She was a fine little bitch,” the man went on, a sweet, nostalgic smile coming over his puffy lips. “I loved that pretty little bitch.”

“I find it’s often the pretty little bitches who tend to get rather nippy,” Rastmoor said with a benign smile. “They take up with other masters now and again, too.”

“You know, it’s getting late,” Julia said. She’d had just about enough for one night. It was bad enough she was forced to hold off her search for Sophie until morning, but putting up with his insults was too much. “I think I’ll retire.”

“Not just yet, my dear Mr. Clemmons,” Rastmoor said. “Sit. Stay.”

“I think not,” she replied to his impertinent little commands.

“I was thinking, once things quieted down in here, you and I could have a nice long chat,” Rastmoor said. “I’m sure you would hate to miss out on that.”

She most definitely would
love
to miss out on that.

“You two are not sharing a room here tonight?” their gentleman friend asked.

“No, it appears this establishment has quite enough rooms for us to each have our own,” Julia said. That was the one thing that worked out well for them tonight. “And I’m afraid I must go up to mine now. You’ll recall, sir,” she said with a pointed look at Rastmoor, “your room is at the end of the hall on the right. I’ll be in the room on the left.”

There, that should let the blackguard know how she felt about his little chat or anything else he might have planned for tonight. With what she assumed was a manly swagger and a final, friendly smile at their wordy companion, she left the common room. If Rastmoor wanted a chat, it was going to have to be with someone other than her tonight. Or ever, if she could help it.

 

 

THE AIR IN HER ROOM WAS COOL, BUT THERE WAS AN extra blanket, and Julia decided she’d likely be warm enough in the night. Fresh water had been an oddity, apparently, at the last two inns where she and Sophie had stayed, so she’d decided to take advantage of the luxury here and wash her underthings.

They were hung about the room to dry, and Julia, dressed in nothing more than what God had given her on the day of her birth, slid under the covers. The innkeeper had promised they’d been washed recently. She could only hope that meant sometime this month. Still, it would be worth it in the morning to slip into clean clothes. Their flight from London had been so sudden there’d not been time to pack any bags or grab extra clothing.

Oh, but how on earth was she going to sleep? She’d found Anthony again. Bother, but she’d have to stop thinking of him that way. He was no longer her Anthony. He was a cold, unfeeling nobleman who had used her for his own purposes. He’d always been that; she’d just never realized it until that night Fitzgelder came to speak with Papa.

She’d been hesitant to believe it even then. Surely Anthony would not have done that horrible thing, wagered her over a silly game of cards. Surely he’d show up to set things straight. Surely he wouldn’t be angry at her forever for misleading him as she had about her true identity.

Of course she’d been hesitant to admit the truth—she was a mere actress, for heaven’s sake. She’d only hoped by the time he found out he might come to love her enough to see beyond what society would say. Well, she’d clearly been wrong.

Still, he wasn’t all bad. He’d been quite amazing tonight, as a matter of fact. Without thought for his own safety, he’d tried to find that first shooter, then gone with her after Sophie. When they came upon those women in trouble, he hadn’t hesitated to get involved. She had, but Anthony hadn’t.

No, he wasn’t Anthony. She must think of him as Rastmoor now. She needed to separate the present from the past. What had gone on between them three years ago was over and done. He was Lord Rastmoor, and she needed to remember he would always be that to her and nothing more.

Still, she knew she wasn’t going to get any sleep for all the wishing.

There was a soft knock at her door. She’d locked it up tight, though she’d never actually expected Rastmoor to pay any heed to it. She figured he’d likely end his night with one of the women patrolling the common room downstairs. That would be his way, to take what was easiest and get what he could from it. Yet who else would be knocking on her door at this late hour?

Only one way to find out. “Who is it?” she called softly.

No one answered, and she had just about decided she must have imagined that knock when she heard it again. Well, perhaps whoever it was couldn’t hear her. Or perhaps it was Anthony—Rastmoor—and he was choosing not to draw attention to himself by answering her. Indeed, if he felt there were danger of some sort, he would wish to keep as quiet as possible.

She yanked the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself. What danger could it be? Heavens, was someone trying to kill him again? She hurried to the door and fumbled at the lock. Her nerves didn’t help things, but at last she got it open.

It wasn’t Rastmoor. It was the older man from the common room. His face glowed redder than ever, and he smiled.

“Good evening, sir,” he said cordially. “Mind if I step in for a moment?”

Julia hugged the blanket tightly against herself. Heavens, this was certainly not what she’d expected! Apparently the man still believed her disguise, although how he could possibly now with her standing huddled under a blanket, she couldn’t fathom. Certainly she had no intention of inviting him in.

But apparently he had no intention of waiting for an invitation. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he pushed past her and tottered into her room. She was too dumbfounded to protest. As a gentleman, of course, she could hardly get all missish over this. As a woman, though, she could hardly let him stay. She struggled to find a manly pose under her blanket and tried to be subtle.

“I’m surprised, sir. It’s rather late, and I thought you’d likely be in your own room by now.”

He didn’t get it. “Ah, sorry about that, lad. I just didn’t want to be too obvious about things with your friend downstairs. He seemed particularly interested in making sure I didn’t follow you up here. Are you certain things are simply professional between the two of you?”

“What? Er, yes, of course.”

“Well, that’s a relief. He’s not the sort of man I’d like to go up against, if you know what I mean. But if the wind ain’t blowing that direction, then I’ve got nothing to fear, right?”