His Lady Midnight (6 page)

“Ask him as well to whom he was speaking while we were in the minister's house.”

“Speaking to?”

“I believe I saw someone speaking with your coachee when we came out of the house.”

He gave her a smile. “Who would be up at this hour to speak with Alfred?”

“I don't know. That is what I hoped you could find out.”

“I shall check with him. Relax, Phoebe.”

Wanting to tell him he was wasting his breath, that relaxing was as impossible as her flying back to Town, Phoebe sagged back against the seat. She should be grateful to him for all he was doing for her. Yet she wanted to ask him why he was doing all this. His actions contrasted with his reputation as a man who basked in all the entertainments available in London.

Or mayhap this all did make sense. He seemed to find the whole of this—and her—most entertaining.

Galen came to the carriage door and reopened it. “We are set to leave.”

“Who was speaking with Alfred?”

“He suspects you saw motion from the horses and mistakenly thought it was a person.”

Phoebe said nothing when he climbed into the carriage and sat beside her. She wanted to believe him, but she had to believe her own eyes. Or could she? Mayhap exhaustion was tempting her to give into fear.

She took off Galen's cloak. Folding it, she set it and the dress between them on the seat. He glanced down at the clothes and gave a hushed chuckle. If he thought to provoke her into speaking, he was going to fail.

The carriage began moving again, and Galen stretched out his legs as far as he could in the cramped carriage. He rested his arm on the back of the seat as he said, “You look bothered, Phoebe.”

“I am.” She was astonished how pleased she was that he had broken the silence.

“Because you think I am bereft of my senses.”

She wished she could see his face, but it was lost in the shadows. “Mrs. McBlain will most definitely remember us stopping there.”

“True.”

“If we are followed—”

“That is why I did not give the good reverend's housekeeper either of our names.”

“But if she describes us, we could be stopped before we get to Thistlewood Cottage.”

“She will not be able to describe you, because I made sure I stood between the light and you whenever possible.”

“She saw you.”

He laughed. “Even so, no one will expect that you and I are together. We have seldom spoken when among the
ton
. If someone is chasing after this carriage, they have no reason to connect the woman I am supposedly eloping with is Lady Phoebe Brackenton.” He laughed again as leaned toward her. “Already I have given your pursuers reason to believe I am madly in love with a woman whose face, if revealed, could create all kinds of a to-do among the elite.”

“You are having too much fun with this.”

“Fun? I must own it will be great fun that in no time the Polite World will be buzzing with the
on dits
of Lord Townsend and how that blackguard has persuaded some miss to believe that he would marry her when they ran off together to daisyville.”

Phoebe smiled. “You are more than a bit diabolical in your schemes.”

“Yes, I think I may be.” His arm curved down over her shoulder as he tilted her head onto his. Although she could not see his face, she recalled how his eyes had twinkled when she first spoke to him in Lady Beterley's foyer. With the same hint of humor that had filled his voice that night, he added, “But now it is time to get some sleep. Shall we sleep together here?”

She sat up straight. “Are you mad?”

“No, simply exhausted.” He shrugged. “If you do not wish to sleep, Phoebe, I beg your indulgence, for I am ready to journey off to the land of nod.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Really, Galen! Kissing me!” Outraged, she turned her back on him and stared out the other window.

When her shoulders were taken, she gasped as he twisted her back to face him. All mirth had vanished from his voice when he said, “If you think that
really
was a kiss, I could show you how mistaken you are.”

She lifted his hands off her shoulders and shoved them away. “If you think this is funny, then you are the one who is mistaken. Save your
bon mots
for Almack's, my lord. I have neither the inclination nor the time for them.”

Phoebe slid as close to the wall of the carriage as she could. Letting her shoulders slump again, she stared out at the stars that were being consumed by a bank of clouds. The silence within the carriage rumbled in her ears more loudly than the sound of the wheels on the uneven road. The weight of all that had happened in the past day ground down onto her head, making it ache as if the carriage had ridden over her.

She slowly clenched her hands, longing to hear Galen speak to her, to apologize or to comfort her or even to fire another comment at her again.

When she heard his breathing slow, she closed her eyes. She had never felt so lost and alone.

Five

Galen picked his way across the muddy yard of the inn. The carriage was not as badly damaged as he had feared when they had almost lost a wheel in a rut. Only the skill of his coachee, Alfred, had kept the carriage from tipping over.

As it was, a pain slashed Galen's right elbow each time he moved his arm. He suspected Phoebe had injured her left ankle, although she said she was unhurt, because she had been limping when he helped her out of the carriage. She had tried to hide her uneven steps from him, but he had been watching closely.

His smile returned. He liked watching her walk. The sway of her skirt was as assertive as her belief that she could bring about a change in the country's laws with her simple act of defiance. Mayhap if he had not indulged himself in observing her as much, he would have missed seeing the slight unsteadiness in her steps.

When his foot hit a broken wooden bucket that careened ahead of him, Galen paid more mind to where he was walking. He could barely see in the deepening twilight. He would have preferred driving to a better inn, but this one was the closest. Alfred had needed every bit of his skill in the box to get them this far, and Galen had not wanted to chance the carriage on unfamiliar roads in the dark.

“How is the carriage? Is it repairable?” asked Phoebe as he came up the stairs to the wide porch.

He took her arm and steered her with cautious, slow steps toward the inn's door and away from the eager eyes of the men who were loitering in front of the porch, talking about the day's work. “Why are you remaining outside? You should have gotten somewhere out of sight as quickly as you could.”

“I did not want to come inside alone.”

Galen was about to remonstrate with her again, then looked around the interior of the inn. It consisted of one large public room and a passage that vanished into the shadows. The stone floor had not been washed recently, even though there were pools of liquid in every depression. He decided it was wiser not to try to determine what they were.

“Alfred said he should have the carriage fixed by morning,” he said.

“By morning? You expect me—I mean, you expect us to stay in this place tonight?”

“Where else? The stables?”

“They can hardly be worse,” she said with a shudder.

Galen laughed tightly. “You can say that simply because you haven't seen them.” He raised his voice as the shadows became a form. “Good evening, sir.”

The dark-haired innkeeper eyed them both, appraising the value of their clothes, no doubt. With Galen's cloak hiding Phoebe's once-elegant gown, the short man would not be able to guess she was a lady fleeing the authorities.

“We need a place in which to stay tonight,” Galen said quietly.

“For you and the missus?” the innkeeper asked in a low grunt.

“Yes.”

Phoebe stared at Galen, wondering if he had lost what little sense he had left. For a man who professed that he would rather speak the truth, he was telling too many out-and-outers.

“This way,” said the innkeeper, holding his hand out as he named the price for the room.

Galen dropped several coins in the man's hand, then put his arm around Phoebe to steer her after the innkeeper. “Don't even say it,” Galen murmured.

“Say what?” She concentrated on trying to keep as much weight as possible off her left ankle. If she was not careful, the tiny twinge became a piercing pain.

“That you intend to repay me as soon as you can,” he replied.

She wondered how many more ways he could discern her thoughts and still miss so many. Yes, she had wanted to tell him last night that she would repay him—eventually—for the money he had given Mrs. McBlain, as well as the food he had bought for them earlier today.

“It is not necessary,” he said in the same near whisper as they walked through a narrow, twisting corridor that was lit by two windows that gave a view of a kitchen garden. It might be neat or filled with weeds, for the darkness hid most of it.

“I do like to even my debts,” she replied softly.

“It seems as if you are in the business of balancing debts, and that is what has gotten you into such a shocking mull.”

Phoebe did not answer as the innkeeper opened a door and said, “First door on the left, sir.”

She stared at the dimly lit staircase behind the door. She bit back her moan at the thought of climbing it when her ankle was so sore.

A bit of the sound must have escaped because Galen said, “Let me help.”

“I should be fine.”

“I would like to help.”

She nodded, not wanting to get into a brangle with him when the innkeeper was avidly listening to each word they spoke. When Galen bent to lift her up into his arms, she saw anguish slip across his face.

“I can get up the stairs on my own,” she whispered, too aware of the innkeeper watching.

“Now that I have you here, don't move. It will irritate my elbow more.” He began up the narrow stairs.

Leaning her head against his chest, so she would not bang it on the wall, she said, “You are being jobbernowl to carry me like this when you are going to exacerbate the injury that clearly has been done to your arm.”

“I told you that I shall be fine as long as you do not move.”

“Are you certain that you shall be fine?”

He stepped up into the passage at the top of the stairs and carried her through an open door. Shoving the door closed with his foot, he gave her the rakish smile that she guessed had melted many hearts before hers. Icy dismay clutched her anew when he laughed and said, “Holding you makes me feel very, very fine, Phoebe.”

“Has anyone told you that you are incorrigible?”

“A few people.”

“How about irritating?”

“A few more.”

“And vexing?”

“Yes, they have told me that as well as informing me that I can be exasperating and incomprehensible and simply bothersome.”

When he set her on the bed, which was the only piece of furniture beneath the room's slanting ceiling, save for a washstand where a single candle burned, she bounced to her feet. A moan burst from her as she foolishly put weight onto her ankle.

“You would be wiser to sit and not hurt yourself,” Galen said, loosening his cravat. “You must own that it would be better for my arm not to have to tote you back down the stairs on the morrow.”

“There will be no need for you to do so.” She undid his cloak and draped it over the footboard. On top of it, she placed the dress he had pulled out of the poor box for her. She longed to have a chance to get clean and put it on.

He faced her and smiled. “You should not get in such a pelter, Phoebe, simply because I gave you a kiss on the cheek.”

“It was a most unseemly thing to do,” she answered, glad that they finally were speaking of what had happened last night. In such a short time, Galen had become a necessary part of her life. She did not want him angry at her, because she was not sure when she might have to trust him as completely as she did the others who helped her.

“Odd, for, to me, it seemed the proper thing to do when you were obviously so distressed.” He closed the distance between them with one step.

When she backed away, she bumped her head on the low ceiling. “Very well. I shall accept your apology, and we shan't speak of this again.”

“Apology? I do not recall apologizing.”

“I thought …” Phoebe took a deep, steadying breath. “You are the most annoying man I have ever met.”

“Ah, I have heard other people say that as well.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “And you are proving to be more interesting all the time, Phoebe.”

“Interesting?”

He smiled at her. “The Lady Phoebe I had heard discussed during various assemblies was always lauded as a woman who was quiet and kept much to herself. There was some question if she might be an unredeemable bluestocking who had no interest in the gatherings of the
ton
, for she often left them not soon after she arrived.”

“People have said that?” She pressed her hand over her heart, which faltered in midbeat. “I had no idea that anyone had taken note of my leaving.”

“Each member of the
ton
notices everything in hopes of learning something of interest before someone else does. That you have slipped away more than once without explanation seems to have caught several eyes.” His grin became mischievous. “Do you wish to know where they think you are going?”

“Your expression suggests it is a place that a lady should not speak of.”

“A lover's arms is a place many ladies speak of.”

“Oh.” Heat soared up her face.

“You cannot let your chagrin at breaking the law persuade you that others might have guessed the truth. I must own, Phoebe, that, at first, I had assumed you were fleeing from some lover when you abducted me along with my carriage. I could not guess another reason you might be out at midnight in such a place.”