Lady Fugitive by Shannah Biondine

face too closely for it to be anything else. His
loins tightened.
    He firmly shook his head. "Nay, I
didn't. Nor will I, particularly in light of the Somersdale forgeries and this
new lie. Her appalling lack of judgment doesn't endear her to me."
    Rachel glanced out the window.
"It's late, Mr. Tremayne. I need to get home."
    He paid the barkeep and led Rachel back
to the wagon. She placed a hand on his arm as she climbed up, but made certain
she sat as far away from him on the seat as possible. Her mind was in turmoil
on the ride back to Crowshaven. Why had she ever spoken so plainly and ever
said a word about his supposed betrothal? Did he guess her true feelings?
    They were back inside the village proper
before Morgan broke the silence. "You asked me for a list of suitable
bachelors."
    Rachel flushed. "I was taunting
that morning, Mr. Tremayne. I don't actually expect you to write one out."
    They pulled up in front of the cottage.
"The question is whether to include myself."
    Rachel wanted to drop through the
floorboards. Had he been reading her mind? She tried to sound offhand.
"Well, you are a bachelor. Theoretically, there's no reason why
your name couldn't be included. But it's not of any significance, as I'm still
in mourning."
    He walked her to the porch and reached
for his set of keys. "There are several reasons why my name should not
appear. I'm your employer as well as your landlord. You seem to prefer the
company of chimney sweeps and wayfarers. Perhaps any man but me. You refused my
offer of supper, lest you be tempted to hurl insults and victuals at me. And
there's the fact that you won't address me by my Christian name."
    She slid past him into the house,
grateful for an avenue of escape.
    "Tell Mr. Atkinson I'll finish the
posting in the morning. I won't let on you deceived him into meeting with the
masons, though I'm sure Chrissy will want to thank you. Good evening, Mr.
Tremayne."
    "Morgan," he corrected as she
closed the door. "Good evening, Rachel."

Chapter
6
     
    Long autumn shadows slanted across the
floor of the office. Chrissy's pale hair shone like a halo as she chattered about
the upcoming dance, bubbling with excitement. Rachel wrote out the last page of
the correspondence Morgan had requested to be completed that day. She set the
documents on his desk alongside the sealing wax, then breezed past Chrissy to
collect Boyd's teacup. Chrissy pursued her to the tiny rear kitchen area.
    "It sounds like a marvelous
evening," Rachel sighed, "but I really can't go."
    "You don't plan to wear black and
sit home alone for the rest of your life, do you? Surely you've been widowed
nearly a year, Rachel."
    "Long enough to stop wearing
weeds," Rachel admitted.
    "Then what on earth are you waiting
for? Good heavens! The Harvest Dance is the perfect opportunity to rejoin the
living."
    Rachel frowned slightly. Rejoining the
living was just what she longed to do, but not here. "You forget that I'm
an American, Chrissy. I needed to get away after my husband died, but my father
will send for me soon. It's better if I wear black until I return to the United
States."
    "Pooh! I think you're nervous about
being courted again," Chrissy argued. "So what if you sail back to
America one day? You can still have a social life in the meantime. Pull out one
of your colorful gowns and come along. I've already spoken to Boyd and he's
agreed to bring you as our guest."
    A masculine voice came from the front of
the offices. "I did, and I'd be honored, Rachel. Do think about it. Ready,
sweetheart?" Boyd joined them, smiling at Chrissandra. They bid Rachel
good evening and disappeared into the twilight.
    Chrissy and her dreaming about
colorful dresses... Rachel shook her
head. She didn't have one. She'd fled Philadelphia with a single trunk, holding
only the trappings of death. She could sew, of course, but wasn't about to set
foot in the mercantile again to purchase fabric. Not after those horrible
forged letters.
    She didn't need to go