throat. Her lips formed words and she sucked her stomach in hard, forcing air out. “Are you looking for someone? I haven’t seen another woman here.”
He stared hard at her, small dark eyes glinting against pale skin. “No, I think I’ve found just who I am looking for.”
“T he Duke of Hargrove requests your company for dinner, Your Grace.” Divers stood across from Mark and glared.
A man’s valet was not supposed to glare at him contemptuously no matter what he was wearing. “What on earth is he doing here? His estates are on the other side of the country.” Mark glanced out the window at the dirty stable yard.
“I imagine he is traveling to the coronation as well, Your Grace. I could not say why exactly he is on this road,” Divers answered.
Mark hadn’t really meant it as question. He was well aware of why the other duke was here. Half of England was traveling to London. Hargrove had probably been visiting with someone before heading to Town. The question had really been Why now? Why, when he was about to go down and meet Miss Smith? He’d actually borrowed a coat from Douglas for the meeting. It was a little loose about the body, but it should have helped prevent Isabella wondering about his station in life. It was not a coat to have dinner with another duke.
“May I help you change?” Divers’s lips were firmly pressed together.
Mark nodded and within minutes he was brushed and smoothed and dressed in black silk.
Miss Smith was correct. His cravat was so tight and high that he couldn’t see his feet. And he wasn’t even going to think about trying to move his shoulders in the jacket. He glanced at the window one more time. Miss Smith would probably be waiting for him.
He wished for a moment that he could pull off the coat and go to her. Instead he turned and headed for the door. He would see what favor Hargrove desired.
“H e’s not coming.”
Isabella jerked around and stared up at the man who’d come through the inn door, her nails biting into her palm. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him before, but he was clearly addressing her.
She should have gone in long before, but she’d stood frozen ever since the blue-coated man had addressed her. She could only hope the other maids would forgive her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered the new man, backing against the wall. Why hadn’t she done that before? Blue Coat had seemed ready to grab her before another coach had pulled into the yard. He’d disappeared in the milling crowd before she could decide what to do. Could he have sent this man to take her? He certainly looked strong enough. He was not young, probably approaching fifty, but he had a broad, capable look about him. A deep scar marked one cheek.
She should have run, or gone to hide, but still she stood motionless. Unsure if she was safer here in plain sight than she would be retreating to the quiet corridors of the inn’s upper floors.
“The man you’re waiting for.” The man spoke again, waking her from her shock. “Strattington is having dinner with the Duke of Hargrove. He’s not coming.”
Isabella let the remarks sink in slowly. He was not here to apprehend her, not with Blue Coat. He was with Mr. Smythe. “The duke is having a meal with Hargrove and Mr. Smythe’s presence is required?”
“Yes.” The man was certainly not verbose.
Isabella did not move away from the wall. The thought of entering the inn still chilled her. Blue Coat might be waiting to catch her in private—there would be fewer questions if no one saw her taken.
She was safer here.
And now all she wanted was a few minutes with Mr. Smythe, a few minutes of make-believe in the midst of everything else, a few moments of pretending to be safe. “Did he ask you to tell me?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then . . . ?” If Mr. Smythe wasn’t coming she should leave. She glanced nervously toward the door.
The man sighed and sat down on the steps. “He
He stared hard at her, small dark eyes glinting against pale skin. “No, I think I’ve found just who I am looking for.”
“T he Duke of Hargrove requests your company for dinner, Your Grace.” Divers stood across from Mark and glared.
A man’s valet was not supposed to glare at him contemptuously no matter what he was wearing. “What on earth is he doing here? His estates are on the other side of the country.” Mark glanced out the window at the dirty stable yard.
“I imagine he is traveling to the coronation as well, Your Grace. I could not say why exactly he is on this road,” Divers answered.
Mark hadn’t really meant it as question. He was well aware of why the other duke was here. Half of England was traveling to London. Hargrove had probably been visiting with someone before heading to Town. The question had really been Why now? Why, when he was about to go down and meet Miss Smith? He’d actually borrowed a coat from Douglas for the meeting. It was a little loose about the body, but it should have helped prevent Isabella wondering about his station in life. It was not a coat to have dinner with another duke.
“May I help you change?” Divers’s lips were firmly pressed together.
Mark nodded and within minutes he was brushed and smoothed and dressed in black silk.
Miss Smith was correct. His cravat was so tight and high that he couldn’t see his feet. And he wasn’t even going to think about trying to move his shoulders in the jacket. He glanced at the window one more time. Miss Smith would probably be waiting for him.
He wished for a moment that he could pull off the coat and go to her. Instead he turned and headed for the door. He would see what favor Hargrove desired.
“H e’s not coming.”
Isabella jerked around and stared up at the man who’d come through the inn door, her nails biting into her palm. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him before, but he was clearly addressing her.
She should have gone in long before, but she’d stood frozen ever since the blue-coated man had addressed her. She could only hope the other maids would forgive her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered the new man, backing against the wall. Why hadn’t she done that before? Blue Coat had seemed ready to grab her before another coach had pulled into the yard. He’d disappeared in the milling crowd before she could decide what to do. Could he have sent this man to take her? He certainly looked strong enough. He was not young, probably approaching fifty, but he had a broad, capable look about him. A deep scar marked one cheek.
She should have run, or gone to hide, but still she stood motionless. Unsure if she was safer here in plain sight than she would be retreating to the quiet corridors of the inn’s upper floors.
“The man you’re waiting for.” The man spoke again, waking her from her shock. “Strattington is having dinner with the Duke of Hargrove. He’s not coming.”
Isabella let the remarks sink in slowly. He was not here to apprehend her, not with Blue Coat. He was with Mr. Smythe. “The duke is having a meal with Hargrove and Mr. Smythe’s presence is required?”
“Yes.” The man was certainly not verbose.
Isabella did not move away from the wall. The thought of entering the inn still chilled her. Blue Coat might be waiting to catch her in private—there would be fewer questions if no one saw her taken.
She was safer here.
And now all she wanted was a few minutes with Mr. Smythe, a few minutes of make-believe in the midst of everything else, a few moments of pretending to be safe. “Did he ask you to tell me?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then . . . ?” If Mr. Smythe wasn’t coming she should leave. She glanced nervously toward the door.
The man sighed and sat down on the steps. “He
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