The Hired Hero (10 page)

The proprietor regarded him with a flicker of surprise, then grunted and bade them follow him up a set of rickety stairs. He pushed open the first door on the right. The room held two narrow bedstands. Squeezed up against the far wall was a simple pine dresser with a cracked mirror hanging slightly askew above it. The bedding however, looked only marginally gray and the floor had recently been swept, though traces of dust still clung to the unwaxed boards.

After a quick glance around, the earl dug for his purse and took out a few coins. “We’ll want some supper,” he said, handing them over. “I shall be down shortly. Have a tray ready for the lad.  He’ll take his up here.”

The door closed. Caroline sank onto the nearest bed with a sigh of relief. Davenport tossed his bag on the other one, causing her head to come up with a start.

“Do you mean to...sleep here too?”

“We can hardly afford the extravagance of a second room. Besides, it would look deuced odd—a man does not hire a separate room for his groom.” His back was to her and he was already placing his shaving things on the top of the dresser.

“But...”

 “Oh come, don’t turn so missus. It is not as if you have never passed a night in the same chamber with a man. And I assure you, I am not as eager as your husband to use my fives on the opposite sex.” He turned and caught a glimpse of her face, drained of all color. “You needn’t fear any other...unwanted attention,” he added quietly.

 Caroline was too shocked to reply.

 “I’ll bring you your supper, then I’ll have an ale downstairs while you ready yourself for...the night.”  He cleared his throat. “I took the liberty of adding a nightshirt along with the extra garments in your bag.” With that, he left the room, closing the door firmly behind him

She wished she could lock it in his wake—unfortunately, there was no such amenity gracing the rough pine. The color flooded back into her face at the thought of the earl lying not four feet away from her for the entire night, clad in no more than a.... First in words and now in deed, he seemed bent on humiliating her. She could not fathom why.

  Her arms clutched the jacket tighter around her, as if to ward off a chill. The oilskin packet sewn in the lining pressed up against her chest. It reminded it her that she must be strong, no matter what. She mustn’t fail her father. With a sniff, she wiped away the tears that had formed at the corners of her eyes. It may not have been the wisest thing to allow the earl to believe she was fleeing a rough husband, but since she dared not reveal the truth, she would have to keep up the charade. If that meant sharing the same bedchamber with the insufferable man, than that was what she would do.

 The door opened—he had not even had the courtesy to knock. 

“I’ve brought you something to eat.” He made a slight grimace. “As you might imagine, the choice was rather limited.” A slice of cold mutton, rather gray around the edges, accompanied by a few slices of bread and piece of moldy cheese sat on a chipped plate.

Caroline turned her head away. “I’m not hungry,” she said, endeavoring to sound composed. “You may put it down anywhere.”

He sat down next to her. Putting the tray aside, he reached for her chin and turned her face towards him. She tried to jerk out of his grasp but he wouldn’t allow her to escape. To her dismay, there was still a trace of wetness on her cheeks. That only made her angrier.

“So, you do not intend to use force on me?” she cried. “Why is it that because you men are stronger, you feel you have the right to do as you please...”

His hand dropped away, but his eyes held her with their piercing deep blue gaze. “If I could think of a way to spare your sensibilities, I would,” he said quietly. “I hardly think it wise—or safe—for you to try to sleep in the stable. It is a rough crowd downstairs, and if it were discovered you were a female...” He let the sentence die. “And it is hardly possible for me to do so and let my groom stay here. It would attract undue attention, which I believe is exactly what you wish to avoid.”

“My sensibilities,” she repeated. “You have no idea what my feelings are, just as I have no understanding of yours—oh, damn it!” Another trickle had started down her cheek and she dashed it away with the sleeve of her coat. “I don’t care that you hate me. Just get me to London. The sooner you do so, the sooner you shall have your money and be done with it.”

Davenport reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief. Without a word, he dabbed gently at the other cheek.

  “I...never  cry.” She took a deep breath, furious with herself.

 “I’m sure you do not.”

 She twisted from his reach. “Just leave me alone.”

 He rose and left without a word.

The third ale still could not drown out the nagging of his conscience. Davenport knew he had been behaving very badly. He set the pint down with a thump and pushed away the unappealing supper, having lost his appetite as well.

Confound the chit. He sighed as he took another long draught. He had a right to be angry with her. After all, she had no right to drag him into her problems when he had more than enough of his own to deal with. It was not his fault that she had chosen a man who beat her, who wanted to batter down all independent thought and spirit, until she was no more than a hollow vessel, drained and empty. He stared at his own empty glass. Perhaps the fault wasn’t his, but the choice ultimately had been. And something about the look in those bravely defiant eyes had made it impossible to turn away.

No, in all honesty it was not her weakness that angered him, it was his own.

He ordered another ale.

An involuntary smile stole across his lips. Weakness was not the exact word for the exasperating young lady he mused, as he recalled the past few days since she had stumbled into his life. She had faced pain and fatigue with more courage than most men. And her spirited defiance of his demands showed pluck to the bone. Why, even her recent tears had been no ploy to pull at his sympathy. The difference between this young lady who called herself Caroline and Helen was—no, he refused to dwell on such things. He drained the last dregs and rose. Damnation, let them both go to the devil. That was what they had chosen.

However he would endeavor to be more civil.

As the earl made his way upstairs, a rough hewn man seated in the dark recesses of the tap room sidled out of his chair and slipped out the door. It would be a long walk and the night was turning raw. But the reward would more than make up for any discomfort. After all, the flash cove had promised a guinea for a description of any travelers passing through the area. The man scratched at his stubbly chin. The tall, dark-haired fellow was easy enough—he had gotten a good look at him throughout the evening. The young groom was a more of a problem. He hadn’t been able to see that one’s face at all, or more than a hint of straw colored hair from under the large cap. But at least he could give a fair picture of the lad’s height and slight build. That should be enough—the toff couldn’t expect him to paint a bloody portrait now, could he?

* * * *

The cry was soft enough that Davenport wasn’t sure whether he had dreamed it. The second one, louder and sharper, brought him fully alert. The noise was going to rouse one of the other lodgers if it kept up. He slipped from his bed and went to kneel beside her. Her covers were in disarray, exposing her nightrail to nearly the waist. The top buttons had come undone and Davenport couldn’t help noticing that she looked—well, even less like a groom than before. Her hair spilled loosely over her shoulders, and one hand was gripping the folded jacket beneath her head, as if she feared that someone might want to make away with the ratty garment.

“I’m not afraid, Luce,” she muttered. Her other hand was clenched in a fist and the earl took it between his own long fingers and tried to ease away the tension.

“It’s all right,” he said softly.

 “No!” She sat bolt upright, her eyes betraying first fear, then confusion.

 “It’s all right,” he repeated, taking gentle hold of her shoulders. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh! I’m...sorry,” she managed to reply as she struggled to gain control of her ragged breathing.

He could feel her still trembling through the thin fabric. Instead of returning to his own bed, he let his hands move to the back of her neck where they began to massage the knotted flesh. “Take a deep breath,” he counseled.

All at once, the fight drained out of her and her head slumped forward, coming to rest on his shoulder. Without thinking, his hand came up to stroke lightly over the cascade of curls hiding her face. It was a few minutes before he spoke again.

“Better?”

She suddenly stiffened and pulled away, drawing the thin blanket up to cover the front of her nightdress and looking away in embarrassment.

Davenport dropped his hands to his side but didn’t move.

“I...I didn’t mean to...disturb you. I won’t let it happen again.”

He ignored her words. “Would you like a glass of water?”

She shook her head. Her eyes were still averted.

“Miss,” he began.

 She started and turned towards him, as if to speak. But her eyes abruptly stopped at a spot somewhere below his chin, then widened in shock.

Puzzled, he followed her gaze down to his bare chest. He had retired clad only in his breeches—and usually he did without those. “Come now, it isn’t as if you have never seen a man without his shirt on.”

She continued to stare in fascination at the sight of the dark curls and the tanned skin, chiseled into taut planes by the days of manual labor.

“Ahhhem.” He reached for where he had dropped his shirt and tugged it on.

Her head came up quickly. “You needn’t concern yourself any longer, sir. I shall not bother you again.” She made as if to lie back down, but he stopped her.

“Make sure it has passed before you try to sleep again.”

 She looked confused. “Why...”

“Do you have them often?”

“No. At least, not until recently,” she replied truthfully.

He gave a short laugh. “I can’t imagine why.” Even in the faint moonlight she could see that his face held no edge of unkindness, that, in fact, his usual scowl had softened into something akin to a smile.

 Her knees drew up under the meager bedcover and her arms wrapped tightly around  them. “Would that the rest of this was only a nightmare as well, and that I could simply wake and find myself free of it all,” she said with a heavy sigh.

 “Mayhap that will be very soon,” he  replied softly. To his surprise, he found he cared more than he wished to admit that his words would prove true.

* * * *

So the farmer hadn’t been too deeply in his cups to make an accurate observation, noted the gentleman. He let the curtain of the carriage window fall closed and settled back against the soft leather. The hat may obscure the features and the jacket cover up the slender figure, but to an observant eye, nothing could  hide the fact that the “groom” did not move quite like a lad.

No, there was no doubt. It had to be her.

But what was the chit up to? Who was the man with her and did he know what she was up to? That would add complications....

Then his mouth curled upwards as he recognized her traveling companion. The Duke’s daughter could not have chosen a less likely protector! It took little imagination to picture what the infamous Earl of Davenport was up to. How he had managed to strike up an acquaintance with the girl was a still a mystery, but his intentions most certainly were not. He was known for his outrageous larks, especially when it came to seducing innocent young ladies. This masquerade had to have one purpose, and one purpose only.

 Well, that suited his own purpose quite nicely. The dissolute nobleman would hardly interfere with his plans for the girl. No doubt he was already bored and, having ruined the chit, would be more than ready to move on to other entertainment. As to the girl’s reputation, it was hardly of consequence. She would not live long enough for it to matter.

The gentleman rapped softly on the trap and spoke briefly with his coachman. The fellow nodded, then pulled the scarf at his neck up to his ears and stepped down to make a show of tending to the pair of matched bays.

Davenport and Caroline took their horses from the stableboy, who gave a whoop of delight at the coin tossed to him by the earl. They mounted and rode out with hardly a glance at the carriage pulled off to the far side of the yard. With only a slight hesitation, Davenport passed by a rutted cart path and continued on to the main road.

They rode in silence, letting the horses have their head, but the air of tension had eased, even though barely a handful of words had been exchanged since the night before. When the earl reined his stallion to an easy trot, Caroline fell in beside him, content with the steady beat of the hooves as the only sound between them.

After a while, she ventured a question. “Where does this road lead?”

“It passes up through Salisbury, where we have a choice of routes to London. If we stayed on nothing but cart paths we could spend days meandering through the countryside—and for what purpose? It’s more than likely we have already thrown off anyone seeking to follow us, so it seems in both of our interests to head to Town by the quickest possible way.”

 She nodded thoughtfully. “I think you are right.”

 “Good lord, will wonders never cease” he replied dryly, though a flash of humor sparked in his eyes.

 She turned to regard him with a serious countenance. “You think me a harridan. then?”

“I am not sure....” His words were interrupted by the clatter of wheels as a sleek, well-sprung carriage  drawn by a pair of matched bays flew by them.

Caroline stiffened in the saddle. “That carriage, it was at the inn this morning, I’m sure of it.”

 “No doubt it was. We are not the only travelers on the road, you know,” reasoned Davenport. “There is no need to become upset over every carriage that happens to pass us.”

“The occupant of that carriage did not spend the night at the inn— I neither saw nor heard any one else moving about in any of the rooms,” countered Caroline. “So why would it be stopped there at that hour? It doesn’t make sense.”