been at the time, or worse, lie about it. With a mental wince, he plunged on. “I hadn’t remembered, no, not remembered it was
you
.”
Mira glared at him and clearly would have stamped her well-shod, little foot were it possible to stand. “You know very well it was me! The possibility that there haven’t been any others is highly questionable and, rest assured, I have questions. Meanwhile, Harry or Bertie or whoever you are, something dubious, impugnable and indeterminate is going on, not to mention crepuscular and downright hazy, and I intend to put my faculties to their utmost in discovering what it is that you are hiding!”
“I should not if I were you,” Harry said in an ice-cold voice he barely recognized as his own. He had heard it said there are times when one must be cruel to be kind, but he never believed it until this moment. “I suggest you tend to your mother before she finds it necessary to join us, then drag the caterwauling George to safety, followed by your complete and utter forgetfulness of all that has occurred in this accursed inn.”
“I suppose this means you intend to forget that you kissed me under one of the tables of said inn, as well as the fact that you, sir, are nothing but a liar,” Mira hissed.
Harry was persuaded no collection case butterfly could possibly feel as skewered as he. Time and circumstances, however, did not allow for explanations. To turn away from Mira’s anguished, sapphire-blue eyes framed by glossy ringlets he longed to touch was doubtless the most difficult thing he might ever hope to do — but do it he must. Without a word, he ducked his head between his shoulders, crawled from beneath the table, and nimbly under the next as quickly as limbs, both of wood and flesh, would allow.
As luck would have it, the supply of tables did not run out before he gained the back door to the yard where he was vastly relieved to find Higgins, shot and bleeding but alive, in close consultation with Mira’s father. Harry was touched to see the pleasure in Sir Anthony’s eyes when he spotted Harry, a sentiment that vanished the moment the vacuous expression of Bertie filled his face.
“Oh, my friends, my friends, how happy I am to see you!” Harry cried as, gingerly, he made his way between one mound of steaming muck after the other. He felt confident that riding boots were created to withstand animal excrement, but suspected Bertie was strongly opposed to anything odiferous hanging about his personage. “I feared I should never see either of you again!” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dab his non-existent tears, surprised to see that his hand shook ever so slightly. Apparently, the shock to his nerves was greater than he supposed, but not anywhere near as great as they must have been to Bertie’s. He resisted the urge to quell the shaking and embraced each man in turn with a cry of surprise at sight of Higgins’ injured arm, whereupon he proceeded to make a dreadful fuss over it. “Whatever, I say, what
ever
are you to do about that, my dear man?” he wailed as if he hadn’t applied his share of tourniquets over the years.
“Tis but a scratch, my lord,” Higgins replied in a grave voice. “I am far more concerned about the hare brain who opened fire and where he’s got to.”
“Yes,” Sir Anthony mused, “it was quite shocking, though it should not have been terribly surprising in light of certain nefarious circumstances I have experienced in connection with this particular coaching house,” he said, his expression wry. “I spotted the shooter running from the room and went after him. He must have had a mount waiting close by for he was gone by the time I had made it out the door.” He clapped a hand to Harry’s shoulder and added, “You disappeared so fast, I thought perhaps you had been hit and collapsed under a table somewhere.”
“Hit?” Harry squealed. “I? But where?” he demanded, though his alarm had more to do with
you
.”
Mira glared at him and clearly would have stamped her well-shod, little foot were it possible to stand. “You know very well it was me! The possibility that there haven’t been any others is highly questionable and, rest assured, I have questions. Meanwhile, Harry or Bertie or whoever you are, something dubious, impugnable and indeterminate is going on, not to mention crepuscular and downright hazy, and I intend to put my faculties to their utmost in discovering what it is that you are hiding!”
“I should not if I were you,” Harry said in an ice-cold voice he barely recognized as his own. He had heard it said there are times when one must be cruel to be kind, but he never believed it until this moment. “I suggest you tend to your mother before she finds it necessary to join us, then drag the caterwauling George to safety, followed by your complete and utter forgetfulness of all that has occurred in this accursed inn.”
“I suppose this means you intend to forget that you kissed me under one of the tables of said inn, as well as the fact that you, sir, are nothing but a liar,” Mira hissed.
Harry was persuaded no collection case butterfly could possibly feel as skewered as he. Time and circumstances, however, did not allow for explanations. To turn away from Mira’s anguished, sapphire-blue eyes framed by glossy ringlets he longed to touch was doubtless the most difficult thing he might ever hope to do — but do it he must. Without a word, he ducked his head between his shoulders, crawled from beneath the table, and nimbly under the next as quickly as limbs, both of wood and flesh, would allow.
As luck would have it, the supply of tables did not run out before he gained the back door to the yard where he was vastly relieved to find Higgins, shot and bleeding but alive, in close consultation with Mira’s father. Harry was touched to see the pleasure in Sir Anthony’s eyes when he spotted Harry, a sentiment that vanished the moment the vacuous expression of Bertie filled his face.
“Oh, my friends, my friends, how happy I am to see you!” Harry cried as, gingerly, he made his way between one mound of steaming muck after the other. He felt confident that riding boots were created to withstand animal excrement, but suspected Bertie was strongly opposed to anything odiferous hanging about his personage. “I feared I should never see either of you again!” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dab his non-existent tears, surprised to see that his hand shook ever so slightly. Apparently, the shock to his nerves was greater than he supposed, but not anywhere near as great as they must have been to Bertie’s. He resisted the urge to quell the shaking and embraced each man in turn with a cry of surprise at sight of Higgins’ injured arm, whereupon he proceeded to make a dreadful fuss over it. “Whatever, I say, what
ever
are you to do about that, my dear man?” he wailed as if he hadn’t applied his share of tourniquets over the years.
“Tis but a scratch, my lord,” Higgins replied in a grave voice. “I am far more concerned about the hare brain who opened fire and where he’s got to.”
“Yes,” Sir Anthony mused, “it was quite shocking, though it should not have been terribly surprising in light of certain nefarious circumstances I have experienced in connection with this particular coaching house,” he said, his expression wry. “I spotted the shooter running from the room and went after him. He must have had a mount waiting close by for he was gone by the time I had made it out the door.” He clapped a hand to Harry’s shoulder and added, “You disappeared so fast, I thought perhaps you had been hit and collapsed under a table somewhere.”
“Hit?” Harry squealed. “I? But where?” he demanded, though his alarm had more to do with
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