The Accidental Abduction by Darcie Wilde Page B

landlord kept up a solid stream of orders to the unfortunate Martin, who ran out into the deluge with a tin lantern gripped in one hand to take Gossip’s bridle from Mr. Rayburn.
    â€œCareful, there,” Mr. Rayburn said. “She’s got a temper. Has anyone else passed this way?” he asked as he followed Leannah and the landlord inside the blessedly warm public room.
    â€œNo, sir,” the landlord replied. “Been a quiet night and likely to stay that way.” He nodded toward the rain as he shut the door. “You needn’t worry about anything along those lines.”
    No, there’s nothing to worry about, except that Genny is out in that storm, and I’m stuck here.
    The landlord evidently saw her distress, and quite mistook its cause. “Now, miss, don’t you fret. All’s just as it should be. We’ve your room ready, and my missus’ll be right out to see to what’s needful.”
    But his reassurance did no good at all. Leannah began to shake. She clutched Mr. Rayburn’s sodden coat closer around her shoulders. The cold had gotten into her blood and bones. It filled her, as heavy and solid as the mass of guilt, anger, and fear that lodged itself under her ribs.
    â€œNow then, now then, you just step through there, miss.” The landlord set his lamp down on the oak bar. “The fire’s good and warm in the parlor, and I’ll send Mrs. Jessop to you right away, as I see your servant’s yet to catch you up. An’ I suspect you’ll be wanting some tea?”
    â€œAs well as whatever’s on the fire in the kitchen.” Mr. Rayburn fished about in the pocket of his dripping coat and laid several coins on the bar. “With our thanks.”
    â€œYes, sir. Very good, sir.”
    The parlor was plain, but neat and well kept, with several slat-backed chairs beside a round table for dining, as well as a pair of armchairs before the fire and a sofa beneath the window. Mr. Rayburn did not accompany her into the room, which was just as well. Leannah needed to collect her wits, and stop this ridiculous shaking, and Mr. Rayburn’s presence would be a decided impediment to both processes.
    A brisk woman—presumably the landlord’s wife, Mrs. Jessop—bustled in and immediately began to poke up the fire. She chattered comfortably as she worked, about how she’d have tea and a bowl of good hot stew in just a minute, and wasn’t this the worst of nights, but still, mustn’t grumble, and if Miss would just give over that nasty wet coat, the girl would be bringing in towels and a dry shawl presently.
    Leannah wasn’t listening. She sat in the chair nearest the fire and held her hands out to the flames. The rain drummed relentlessly against the shutters, and Leannah trembled from the strength of her fear as much as from the cold.
    This is my fault. Why didn’t I just let them all know I’m happy to accept Mr. Valloy? We’d be settled again by now, and Genevieve could finish up the season without any of us having to worry. What am I going to do? Jeremy’s going to wake up and find us both gone. No. Jeremy will be fine. He won’t think to try to come after us.
    Except he would. At twelve, her brother very much felt himself to be the man of the family. Leannah squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of clever, stubborn young Jeremy calmly distracting the servants and walking out the door. He had the family way with horses. He’d have Bonaparte saddled up before anyone knew he was missing.
    My fault. All my fault.
    But she hadn’t wanted to marry Terrance Valloy. She’d entered into her first marriage because her father had arranged it for the good of the family. It hadn’t been so bad. Elias Wakefield was a good man. It had taken her years to discover exactly how good, but she’d felt his innate kindness from the moment she first met him. She had no such feeling about Mr. Valloy. In