then, unable to stop herself, unable to control her desire to touch him, traced a finger down his cheek. “Yes, I know, but somehow you seem to be the only one I can talk to. I’ve known you less than two days, probably spent less than four hours together in your company, and yet I feel I can tell you anything.”
“As if you’d have deep, dark secrets to tell.”
If only he knew. Isabella let her hand drop. In a matter of days they’d be in London, back to the scene of her crime. She wasn’t sure if the man in the blue coat she’d seen today was the same one she’d seen at the beginning of her trip, but her gut told her that he was. If that was true she had to leave, and soon. If only she knew how. If she continued to London she might be able to blend into the crowds and disappear, seek new employment.
She swallowed and tilted her head back to stare up at the stars. “You’d be surprised. We all have secrets. Don’t you?”
He was quiet and she wasn’t sure he was going to answer. He pulled in a lungful of air. “Yes, I would have to say I do.”
“It would be easier if we didn’t. If we could just be who we are in this minute.”
T he next night Isabella peered about the stable yard nervously. It was too early for Mr. Smythe to be here. If he followed the pattern of the last two nights, he would probably not appear until full dark. Unfortunately she might not be able to get away from her duties then.
She glanced about the still-busy stable. It was amazing how similar they all looked. Normally she found comfort in a crowd. With people about she just felt safer. Today, however, her nerves had the best of her. It wasn’t just the blue-coated man. There was something else wrong and she couldn’t quite put a finger on it.
She edged back from the bustle and took a seat on a bench, wishing there was one against the wall where nobody could get behind her. Despite how brief their actual acquaintance was, waiting for Mr. Smythe felt like a natural piece of her life—a very pleasant piece.
Only not today. Today she wanted to be upstairs with Joey. He’d fallen asleep the minute they arrived and the other maids had required only minor bribes to watch him for a bit. She’d snuck down the stairs eagerly, avoiding Mrs. Wattington’s room and . . . and then the feeling had overtaken her.
Something was not right.
This was something different than her normal unease, a slow creep of dread deep in her stomach.
She shook her head to clear it. The cause of her feeling didn’t really matter. In fact the feeling didn’t really matter. She should leave before her troubles found her. Leave Joey—and Mr. Smythe.
It was going to be harder than all the other leavings had been.
And there had been a lot of other leavings.
A cry came from the other side of the yard. Her head jerked up to see a groom yelling at a stable boy as a horse stomped down on his foot.
Somehow she had to get away and head in a new direction. Standing up, she began to pace. Her mind ran in circles without finding an answer. If she’d been a man she could have slung a bag over her shoulder and hiked down the road seeking a place to sleep in return for a strong back. Unfortunately it was not a strong back men were after when they offered a woman a place to sleep.
There was only one easy way for a woman to make her way in this world, and that life held no appeal.
But what other choices were there? If she left her position here she’d have no character reference, and without a reference—
She swallowed at the thought. No, she was not that desperate.
She could write to Lady Smythe-Burke. Surely the lady would help her out again. But would it be in time?
“Miss Masters?”
Her head jerked up at the voice—and the name it spoke. It came from the door of the inn, came from behind her.
She turned slowly.
He was there, the deep blue of his coat marked by a week of travel.
She tried to find her voice. It stuck deep in the recesses of her
“As if you’d have deep, dark secrets to tell.”
If only he knew. Isabella let her hand drop. In a matter of days they’d be in London, back to the scene of her crime. She wasn’t sure if the man in the blue coat she’d seen today was the same one she’d seen at the beginning of her trip, but her gut told her that he was. If that was true she had to leave, and soon. If only she knew how. If she continued to London she might be able to blend into the crowds and disappear, seek new employment.
She swallowed and tilted her head back to stare up at the stars. “You’d be surprised. We all have secrets. Don’t you?”
He was quiet and she wasn’t sure he was going to answer. He pulled in a lungful of air. “Yes, I would have to say I do.”
“It would be easier if we didn’t. If we could just be who we are in this minute.”
T he next night Isabella peered about the stable yard nervously. It was too early for Mr. Smythe to be here. If he followed the pattern of the last two nights, he would probably not appear until full dark. Unfortunately she might not be able to get away from her duties then.
She glanced about the still-busy stable. It was amazing how similar they all looked. Normally she found comfort in a crowd. With people about she just felt safer. Today, however, her nerves had the best of her. It wasn’t just the blue-coated man. There was something else wrong and she couldn’t quite put a finger on it.
She edged back from the bustle and took a seat on a bench, wishing there was one against the wall where nobody could get behind her. Despite how brief their actual acquaintance was, waiting for Mr. Smythe felt like a natural piece of her life—a very pleasant piece.
Only not today. Today she wanted to be upstairs with Joey. He’d fallen asleep the minute they arrived and the other maids had required only minor bribes to watch him for a bit. She’d snuck down the stairs eagerly, avoiding Mrs. Wattington’s room and . . . and then the feeling had overtaken her.
Something was not right.
This was something different than her normal unease, a slow creep of dread deep in her stomach.
She shook her head to clear it. The cause of her feeling didn’t really matter. In fact the feeling didn’t really matter. She should leave before her troubles found her. Leave Joey—and Mr. Smythe.
It was going to be harder than all the other leavings had been.
And there had been a lot of other leavings.
A cry came from the other side of the yard. Her head jerked up to see a groom yelling at a stable boy as a horse stomped down on his foot.
Somehow she had to get away and head in a new direction. Standing up, she began to pace. Her mind ran in circles without finding an answer. If she’d been a man she could have slung a bag over her shoulder and hiked down the road seeking a place to sleep in return for a strong back. Unfortunately it was not a strong back men were after when they offered a woman a place to sleep.
There was only one easy way for a woman to make her way in this world, and that life held no appeal.
But what other choices were there? If she left her position here she’d have no character reference, and without a reference—
She swallowed at the thought. No, she was not that desperate.
She could write to Lady Smythe-Burke. Surely the lady would help her out again. But would it be in time?
“Miss Masters?”
Her head jerked up at the voice—and the name it spoke. It came from the door of the inn, came from behind her.
She turned slowly.
He was there, the deep blue of his coat marked by a week of travel.
She tried to find her voice. It stuck deep in the recesses of her
Similar Books
