The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae by Stephanie Laurens
“This way.” Grasping her elbow, Dominic propelled her on—the first time he’d touched her since those moments in the theater. She nearly tripped; he held her upright, but immediately she caught her balance and started forward, he released her. “The door beside the office.”
Lips tight, she changed tack, avoiding the long queue snaking out of the office; just as well they’d purchased their papers earlier. With Dominic alongside her subtly clearing the way, they tacked through the crowd.
They’d avoided each other all through the day; what words they’d exchanged had been purely practical. Yet the instant he’d touched her, when she’d heard his voice low and close, now he was so near once more, her senses had flared again, every bit as hotly as before.
A quick look at his face confirmed that the rigidly impassive mask he’d redonned that morning was firmly in place. Determined not to allow her unsettlingly uncharacteristic uncertainty to show, she ruthlessly suppressed her reaction and forged on. Reaching the door, she opened it and walked through—into the inn proper.
An even more intense cacophony assaulted her. The large main room was packed with humanity, eating, talking, laughing, shouting. Even the smells were manifold, but she couldn’t halt and take stock; with Dominic at her back she moved into the melee, but then he tweaked the back of her greatcoat. She turned, then followed him as he pushed through to where a harassed-looking clerk sat at a window set in the wall shared with the adjacent office.
Dominic set their papers on the counter. “Two for the Edinburgh mail.”
The clerk inspected the papers, ticked two places on one of a plethora of lists, then handed the papers back. “You’re on. Keep an ear out—we’ll call passengers about eight o’clock. If you don’t answer the call within ten minutes, your seats go to one of those waiting.”
Dominic retrieved the papers, then turned and nodded into the room. “Let’s see if we can find a table.”
She hung back and let him take the lead. With a greatcoat over her youth’s clothes, and her wide-brimmed hat firmly in place, she felt confident her disguise would fool most observers, but a youth would follow his tutor, not the other way about.
A guard stepped into the room, raised a bullhorn, and bellowed for the passengers on the mails to Norwich, Newcastle, and Leeds. Several groups stood and quickly gathered their bags.
“Over there.” Dominic tipped his head toward a table in one corner of a wide alcove running along the back wall. She followed as he pushed past the previous occupants now on their way to the door.
The vacated table had benches for four on either side.
He waved her in. “Take the corner.”
She slid along the bench while he turned and looked back at the door. Then he swung back and sat beside her. Given their current state of mutual avoidance, she’d wondered if he would. Then again, now they were once more in public, she doubted his protective tendencies would allow him to preserve any distance to speak of.
Protective men tended to hover close, and possessively protective men—she was fairly certain he would be one—were even worse.
Griswold, Brenda, and Mulley appeared out of the crowd and, after inquiring politely about the vacant seats, joined them. Jessup and Thomas arrived shortly after.
On leaving the house, they’d split into three groups and had taken separate hackneys to Aldersgate as if they weren’t all one party. If she was supposed to be a youth traveling with her tutor on the mail, then they wouldn’t have an entourage.
As soon as they’d all settled, a serving girl bustled up to take their orders; as all passengers needed to arrive early to ensure that their seats remained theirs, the inn did a roaring business feeding them while they waited. Angelica chose the mutton stew. With all orders taken, the girl whisked off, and the group settled to chat and pass the time.
At first the talk was of Scotland, the highlands, and the castle; Angelica drank in the details, but then the conversation fragmented and turned to people and places she didn’t know. Her attention shifted to the room, to its myriad occupants.
Aware her attention had wandered, Dominic briefly searched her face, hesitated, then said, “Does the experience live up to your expectations?”
Without looking at him, she murmured, “My expectations were uninformed, and therefore very tame compared to the reality. There’s so much going on, and it’s so intense, so full of energy.” After a moment, she glanced at him. “I’ve never traveled by mail, and it’s unlikely I will again, so”—she looked back at the room—“I’m looking my fill and am eager to experience all there is to it.”
“I’ve never traveled by mail either.” When she glanced at him, puzzled, he caught her gaze. “I’m an earl, remember.”
“I hadn’t forgotten, but . . . not even in your misspent youth?”
“I’m not sure I had a misspent youth, not in the sense you mean.”
She shifted to face him, leaning one elbow on the table and propping her chin on that hand. Her attention was now wholly his, which some part of him regarded as how things should be, despite his wish to keep a non-arousing distance between them.
After a moment of studying him, she frowned. “I really can’t see you as the sort not to have a misspent youth.”
At least they were talking again. “But I had clan, remember? I didn’t have to travel to find like-minded souls with whom to carouse. My equivalent to your brothers’ and cousins’ misspent youths was spent in the highlands, or at school or university in Edinburgh. There were few mail coaches about for us to commandeer and try our hands at driving. For the most part, we rode, or drove gigs, and later curricles.”
“But you came to London. You must have gone back and forth several times.”
“True, but that was after the accident. I was already twenty-one and beyond the reckless hellion stage, and as Debenham, I had a private coach, which I used because of my knee. So I’ve always traveled privately, never on the mail.”
Her frown returned. “I forgot about your knee—you haven’t been using your cane.” She blinked. “And you didn’t have it with you all day yesterday.”
Her clear disapproval made something in him ease. He shrugged. “This time it’s recovering much faster. I jarred the old injury, but it was nowhere near as bad as the first time.”
She glanced down at the bags at their feet. “You haven’t brought a cane with you.”
“It’s too distinctive—just in case your family starts looking for Debenham.”
Still frowning, she opened her mouth—
“Here you go.”
He turned to see the serving girl lifting plates from a tray. She handed them around. “Drinks’ll be with you shortly.”
They fell to, and conversation largely ceased.
Once he’d cleared his plate, he cast about for some safe topic while Angelica was still eating. “We’ve spoken of my misspent youth—what of yours?”
“Young ladies don’t have misspent youths—they have Seasons.”
“And yours were . . . ?”
Gaze on her plate, she considered, then said, “Surprisingly uneventful, now I look back on them. There really is very little to relate. It was all exactly as I’m sure you can imagine—the balls, soirees, parties, and the like. Nothing of any significance.”
She looked up, then focused past him. He turned.
Jessup was unfolding a map. “Let’s see . . .”
A discussion ensued as to their route, of the towns the mail would halt at, and how much time the journey would take.
“Edinburgh Mail!” a stentorian voice boomed across the room. “Leaving in ten minutes, west side of the yard. All those with papers report to the guard by the boot.”
“That’s us.” Thomas leapt up.
They quickly gathered their bags. Standing, Dominic threw a handful of coins on the table, then, clamping down on the
The others had gone ahead, reporting to the guard in their different groups. The papers he and Angelica held entitled them to two of the inside seats. They were joined by Brenda and Griswold. Mulley and Thomas had clambered up to the passenger seat on the roof, while Jessup had claimed the seat beside the coachman.
With everyone aboard, the coachman climbed to the box, and the guard swung up to his position above the boot, alongside the sacks of mail they would deliver along the route.
Angelica peered out of the window; although her excitement was distinctly childlike, she embraced it. As she’d said, she was unlikely to have the chance to experience this ever again.
Briefly, she glanced at Dominic, seated alongside her. He was staring out of the opposite window, watching, appraising—searching for any sign of recognition or pursuit—but he was also, like her, drinking in the scene. That this journey would be a first for him, too, that they would be sharing the novelty, added interest to her anticipation.
She and her hero were about to set off on a journey to conquer a metaphorical dragon and regain a treasure vital to him and his people—what more could a young lady bent on love, adventure, and challenge ask for?
Clarity and certainty popped into her mind.
She’d expected to feel a lot more certain, a lot more definite about how to make him love her, a lot more sure of the route to that shining goal.
The guard’s horn sounded, a long clarion call signaling the coach’s departure. Thrusting her uncertainty deep, she reached instead for her excitement, for the thrill of the moment; regardless of her confusion and the disarray of her plans, in every way, on every level, this moment was indisputably the beginning of the rest of her life.
The carriage jerked and started ponderously rolling, then it turned out of the yard and into the street.
Riding the upswing of emotion, she leaned toward Dominic and murmured, “We’re away!”
Glancing at her, Dominic took in her shining eyes, the reined enthusiasm in her expression. He said nothing, simply nodded, then turned back to watching the pavements.
He remained tense, alert, and watchful, a part of him expecting to meet some Cynster-inspired hurdle with every passing mile, but the coach rolled out of London unimpeded, and out along the Great North Road.
Twilight deepened, then darkness closed in. By the time they reached Enfield, it was full night. The change of horses was rapid and practiced; passengers were discouraged from alighting as the instant the traces were tightened, the coachman would drive on. While the fresh horses were being put to, Dominic noted several ostlers glancing at the occupants of the coaches in the yard, but their attention was focused on the two private carriages waiting behind the mail for their horses to be changed.
Minutes later, they were on the road again, rattling north at speed. He relaxed a fraction, leaning back, watching as the others settled to get what sleep they could.
As the miles rumbled by, he dozed. Beside him, Angelica shifted frequently, trying to get comfortable without touching him; every time she did, he had to consciously suppress the urge to reach out and draw her near, to have her lay her head on his chest and relax against him. An irrational and irritating urge. Quite aside from the unwisdom of touching her, she was supposed to be a youth, and they were still too close to London to risk someone inadvertently glimpsing her and seeing through her disguise.
When she finally fell more deeply asleep, he glanced at her. Moonlight slanted through the coach’s window; despite her hat, its glow limned her profile, relaxed in slumber, and outlined her lips, so impossible to imagine on any male’s face. Asleep, tongue stilled, eyes closed . . . it wasn’t hard to see how she’d come by her name.
Facing forward, he leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully, if not comfortably. Dominic shook Angelica awake as the coach rolled into Huntingdon. “Breakfast—and we’ll need to eat quickly.”
She’d been sleeping curled in the corner, her cheek resting on one hand. She opened her eyes, looked at him, slowly refocused, then straightened her legs and sat up, mumbling, “I thought it was just another change.”
In addition to Enfield, they’d stopped to change horses at Ware and Buntingford, but as at Enfield, those changes had been effected swiftly, with no real halt. At both Ware and Buntingford, he’d seen unusually alert ostlers scanning the coaches, but while some had glanced at their windows, none had shown any real interest in them.
As Buntingford was the third stage north from the capital, it seemed that they had indeed successfully slipped through the net the Cynsters had cast around London. That didn’t, however, mean that there wouldn’t be other watchers further on.
Angelica yawned, then glanced at the window. “Oh—what time is it?” Not even a hint of dawn had yet lightened the night sky.
“A little before four o’clock. We’re on schedule.”
Brenda stirred, then woke. Griswold was already alert. “I’ll change with Mulley, my lord—give him a chance to catch a wink.”
Dominic nodded. “We’ll be able to stretch our legs, at least, but eat first—we won’t stop again for hours.”
They all took the warning to heart. As soon as the coach halted, they all climbed out and, joined by the other three, made their way into the inn. As soon as their orders were taken, Angelica, with Brenda to stand guard, slipped away to the facility located at the end of a narrow passage. By the time they returned, the innkeeper and his wife were setting platters of ham, eggs, and sausages on the table, along with freshly baked bread and jam, coffeepots, and a teapot.
Angelica applied herself to the fare, but she’d never been a big eater, especially not at breakfast. Not even to pretend to be a youth could she force anything more down. Her meager appetite sated, she considered going for a walk . . . but then realized that if she did, Dominic would feel compelled to go with her, and he, and the other men, too, and even Brenda, were plainly much hungrier than she.
So she sat and sipped her tea, and waited.
Too soon, the coachman and guard who had driven them thus far came around, apparently for a customary tip. Dominic must have been forewarned; he had the coins ready, as if they’d been gathered from the whole table and hadn’t come solely from him.
And then the new guard was calling them to reboard.
Thomas, the last of the men to do so, rushed down the passageway after begging the rest of them to make sure the coach didn’t leave without him. They dawdled and stalled for as long as they could, until Thomas came streaking out of the inn and scrambled up to his seat, just in the nick of time.
The new coachman cracked his whip, yelled to the horses, the guard sounded his horn, and they were off again.
They made a luncheon stop at Stamford, only marginally longer than their breakfast halt. Angelica, Dominic, Mulley, and Jessup squeezed in a short walk, but the very real risk of the coach driving on without them restricted the excursion. At least they succeeded in properly stretching their legs.
On the road again, the coach rattled past Grantham, then on to Newark, where they were allowed half an hour for a rushed dinner. Then it was back in the coach, rolling north past Doncaster and on toward York.
The rattling, rumbling progress, the frequent blaring of the guard’s horn as notice to other carriages to give way, the unpredictable pitching, and the constant, repetitive thunder of the horses’ hooves all combined to make conversation well nigh impossible; the four of them inside the carriage quickly sank into a somnolent state, silently watching the scenery drift past.
Angelica had intended to use the hours to tease more information out of Dominic; instead, her normally active, alert, and inquiring mind sank into a miasma
By the time the coach rolled into York, she’d made a firm resolution that she would not be traveling by mail again.
The cheery scene that met her weary eyes when their group walked into the York Tavern revived her somewhat, and the excellent supper laid before them further assisted said revivification.
Half an hour later, the call came for them to reboard. She rose from the bench on which they’d been sitting. “I can’t believe it’s going to take another whole day just to reach Berwick.”
“The roads aren’t as well surfaced and are not as direct.” Having stood alongside her and stepped over the bench, Dominic reached for her hand—and only just stopped himself from completing the revealing action.
She arched a brow at him, then stepped over the seat.
He met her eyes, then turned and strode out. She followed, unexpectedly satisfied that, while she was a lad to everyone watching, she remained a lady to him.
They’d been preserving their wordlessly agreed mutual distance; as she settled in the coach alongside him, she remembered quite clearly why. Those moments in the pit, and even more the fraught minutes over the dinner table, were indelibly etched in her mind. Yet while she hadn’t been able to focus well enough to interrogate him during the journey, her mind, it seemed, had been turning facts, notions, and ideas over and around, reexamining and reevaluating, and the time in the York Tavern had allowed the conclusions to rise to the forefront of her brain.
Clarity was hers again, and while uncertainty still lingered, she now accepted that a degree of uncertainty was unavoidable at this point.
At this point in her campaign to induce Dominic to fall in love with her.
Her principal problem, as she now saw it, was that when it came to experience of the opposite sex she was, indeed, twenty-one, not twenty-five. She seriously doubted Heather would have reacted to that scene over the dinner table with the same skittering nervousness that she had. While she was clever and observant, and in many respects had a sound understanding of men and how they thought, the one aspect to which she as yet had had little exposure was lust.