Unlacing the Innocent Miss by Margaret McPhee Page B

reached the bottom of the staircase before he realized that she had not moved. The silver gaze met hers.
    ‘Miss Meadowfield.’ The words were uttered so softly that they barely carried up the stairs, yet the threat contained in them was louder than had he shouted at the top of his voice. The skin on the nape of her neck prickled and she hurried down after him, her hand gripping the banister rail.
    Campbell and Kempster were seated over in a corner.
    As she crossed the busy room with Wolf, she felt all eyes upon them.
    ‘We ordered some mutton stew and chicken pies,’ said Campbell in his gentle burr. ‘Couldnae wait all night for yous to come down.’ He grinned. ‘We’ve a jug of ale for while we wait.’
    A serving wench, with what looked to Rosalind to be an indecently revealing décolletage, brought cutlery and plates to the table.
    ‘We are to eat…in here?’ Rosalind had never eaten in the public room of an inn before. She glanced anxiously around.
    ‘The food will be the same whether we eat here or waste our money paying for a private parlour,’ said Wolf as he gestured for her to take the seat beside Campbell on the inside of the table.
    She did as she bid, trying not to notice the less than subtle interest from the people seated around them. From the corner of her eye she saw the landlord make his way over.
    ‘The rooms are to your liking, sir…’ His eyes dropped to her hand, pausing just for a second or two on the bare fingers of her left hand. Rosalind held her head up defiantly, determined not to be shamed even though she knew what the man must think her. But the heat in her cheeks betrayed her.
    Wolf gave a curt nod.
    ‘And your lady?’ The landlord persevered.
    Wolf turned a glacial eye upon him.
    The landlord paled. ‘I’ll see to your food, sir.’
    Rosalind dropped her gaze, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow her. Was it her imagination or was there a lull in the surrounding buzz of conversation?
    Only after the landlord had departed did she whisper furiously at Wolf, ‘You should have told him I was not your lady.’
    ‘So concerned for his good opinion, Miss Meadowfield?’ He smiled a cold mocking smile.
    Her cheeks burned all the hotter. ‘No, but he will think the worst of me. My reputation—’ She heard Kempster snigger, and broke off what she had been about to say, knowing how ridiculous her reaction was—for she had no reputation left to lose.
    ‘Pray continue. Your reputation…?’ Wolf raised an eyebrow.
    She cast her gaze down, and spoke the words quietly, ‘I meant only that I did not wish him to believe me something that I am not.’
    ‘I see.’
    She raised her eyes to his.
    ‘You wished me to tell him that you are not my lady but a thief.’ His words were spoken easily enough and in no hush.
    ‘Ssh! People will hear.’
    ‘Will they indeed?’
    ‘They are beginning to stare,’ she whispered in a panic.
    ‘Let them,’ he said. ‘I am quite used to it.’
    She heard the slight bitterness in his voice, and her eyes traced the scar that marked the honeyed skin of his cheek. Shame washed over her at her insensitivity and she bit at her lower lip. ‘I did not mean…that is to say I was not referring to—’
    His eyes met hers, and all of the words dried upon her tongue.
    The awkwardness was broken by the arrival of the food. There was no more talk as the men devoured the stew and potatoes and cabbage and pie as if they had not eaten for a week, nor did the fact that it was scalding hot seem to slow them down any. The smell alone caused Rosalind’sstomach to rumble; indeed the mutton stew was thick and tasty, and the pie hot and flavoursome. But she ate little of them, and merely toyed with the rest. In truth her stomach was too tense for food.
    Wolf said nothing to her but she frequently felt his gaze on her throughout the meal, which seemed only to make her stomach flutter all the more, until at last they were done. Leaving Kempster and