Page 26 of Not a Fine Gentleman

The man grew excited. “You’ve seen her? This woman?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“You ain’t seen her since then?” the man asked.

“No, I’m afraid not. I’d like to thank her for helping us.”

Connor stared down at his drink. If the man sought Margaret, Connor would have to take evasive action.

Footsteps approached, and a miniature was thrust under Connor’s nose. “Ya seen this woman?”

A bolt went through him as a younger Margaret Hennessy smiled at him from the miniature, possibly a twin of the one he carried. He patted his pocket just to be sure he had it. This man undoubtedly sought the reward and probably wouldn’t mind roughing her up. Over Connor’s dead body.

Connor nodded and affected a Yorkshire accent. “Aye, I seen ’er. Wouldn’t forget a prime article like ’er. I think she were one o’ the passengers on th’ other coach. She took a ride from a farmer wiff a cart going up t’ hill ’at a way.” He jabbed his thumb up the road, opposite the direction where he and Margaret traveled.

The man stared intently at Connor. His long, pointed nose and receding chin made him look like a dog… or a rat. “Toward Nottingham? You sure?”

Something about his expression, or perhaps the flatness in his eyes, gave Connor a cold chill. Connor forced a grin. “Aye, no mistake. That’s ’er. Tried to get ’er to share a room wiff me ’ere at this fine establishment, but she seemed in a terrible rush.”

The rat-faced man with the miniature raced out of the inn. Seconds later, hooves galloped away. Connor almost pitied the man. Almost.

The deception had only bought them a little time. In a day, perhaps two, the man would realize he’d been misled. Eventually, he’d come back this way. Connor returned upstairs to the room he shared with Lady Hennessy. Meg. He smiled.

Water sloshed and dripped from the other side of the door. Whatever he did, he must not picture her naked in the bath, or standing, wearing only a towel in front of the fire with the firelight playing with the curves of her figure and making her skin glow.

He failed.

He paced the length of the corridor leading to the other rooms. At the top of the stairs, he paced back the other way. In front of the door, he listened. Nothing. No movement.

Softly, he called, “Meg?”

No answer. Was she still inside, or had she slipped out somehow? He pushed open the door and peered about the dim interior. Outside, dusk had fallen, and faint light crept in through the thick windows. All remained still. Several freshly washed articles of clothing hung from a wooden ladder-back chair in front of the hearth, dripping on the wooden floor.

Deep breathing drew him toward the bed. Margaret lay in a tumble of blankets, and her wet, dark hair lay spread out across the pillow, her head turned away. The covers revealed a long, graceful neck and a bare shoulder. Her profile reminded him of a child’s. Her skin glowed flawlessly and almost golden in the firelight.

So she was beautiful.

Irrelevant.

And naked in bed.

Even more irrelevant.

He turned away and bolted the door. Proud, aristocratic, stubborn women. Who needed them? He’d learned the hard way that they took whatever they wanted, from whomever they wanted, with no thought for others, or the wreckage they left behind. Connor would never again allow a woman such as she to touch him, or his heart, the way Vivian had touched him.

She had been convincing, even going so far as to arrange for a lover’s bower where they met frequently. And yet, when he’d spoken of marriage, she’d laughed and cruelly rejected him.

Besides, evidence pointed toward Lady Hennessy as her husband’s killer. Despite her powerful family, she must face justice and might very well hang or be transported.

Murky, reddish water sat in the washbasin on the floor where Connor had placed it for Margaret to soak her feet. Her slippers and stockings, what was left of them, hung in battered, stained ruins over the makeshift clothesline.

She was tough and uncomplaining, he’d give her that. He didn’t know too many men who’d walk on bleeding feet without wailing about it.

Was she tough enough to stab a man to death?

After removing his boots, he stretched out on the floor and spent the next several hours pointedly ignoring the nearness of the sleeping woman, and instead, planned how to get her safely back to London to deliver her to her brothers until she faced the law.