are you willing to take me with you?”
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “I told you, I cannot be certain of your safety except in my company. I dislike borrowing funds to speed my travel, so your coins are convenient, and people are more likely to respond to my questioning with a lady by my side. I have a feeling time is of the essence.”
The urgency of his tone convinced her. Blanche rose from the chair and approached the door he blocked with his masculine frame. “I will have a bag packed at once. I suppose we cannot use the town carriage?”
Michael stepped away from the door. “You will take the town carriage to Dillian’s and send it away. Take only a bag your maid can carry. You will leave Dillian’s through the back gate and catch a hackney by the park. Have the hackney take you to the White Horse. I’ll meet you there. By the time we are finished, it will be impossible for anyone to trace your steps.”
Blanche shivered with anticipation. Blanche kissed Michael’s cheek. “I don’t care who you are, Michael Lawrence, you’re a gem among men.”
Twelve
Garbed in a country gentleman’s careless tweed and knee high leather boots, Michael twitched his riding crop in his gloved fingers and anxiously watched the inn yard. He tried reminding himself that he should peruse the second-hand clothing shops more frequently—this coat had seen better days—but his concentration focused on the arriving coaches and not the disrepair of his disguise.
He hoped Blanche had understood his instructions. If she arrived in full aristocratic regalia, she would make hiding their trail difficult.
He had already decided he’d lost his mind to even contemplate this journey. He should hop the next mail coach and save himself no end of grief, but he wouldn’t. He’d seen the despair in Blanche’s eyes, felt her grasping for some token of human warmth, and knew Neville couldn’t provide what she needed.
He would take her away to safety, give her an adventure to make her smile and forget the responsibility piled on her frail shoulders, and return her to Anglesey. With any luck, she would adopt an orphanage and find happiness with the children there. Right now, she wasn’t strong enough to accept the death of any more children, and that happened too frequently even in the best of orphanages. First, he must make her strong.
No, first he must make himself strong. He paced like a nervous bridegroom, aware that he seldom set about a task with less than full assurance of his ability to accomplish it, but Blanche made him second guess everything he did.
Michael hurried into the inn yard at sight of a small leather-clad boot stepping daintily from a coach.
She had wrapped herself in a coarse brown cloak and covered her hair with a brown bonnet adorned with brown roses. Brown roses. Michael shuddered at the abomination while admiring her choice. She had made herself as mousy and nondescript as a woman of her beauty could. The elongated bonnet brim successfully disguised the revealing scars as well as her hair. Thick mittens hid delicate fingers. She could be a governess or a squire’s wife.
Only when he reached her side did Michael realize Blanche arrived alone. Scowling, he caught her mittened hand, paid the coach driver, and hastily led her through the chaos of the inn yard. Arriving mail coach passengers shoved and shouted around them, yelling for their luggage, for post chaises, at each other and the animals. Blanche seemed startled by the confusion as he led her to a quiet corner inside, out of the immediate uproar.
“Where is your maid?” he whispered heatedly. He didn’t like lingering. Her family would start searching at posting inns once they discovered Blanche missing.
“I left her at home,” Blanche replied defiantly. “She had no desire to travel. I told her I would borrow one of Dillian’s maids. She could not help but talk, Michael. I have enough wealth to care nothing for gossip, but Neville
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “I told you, I cannot be certain of your safety except in my company. I dislike borrowing funds to speed my travel, so your coins are convenient, and people are more likely to respond to my questioning with a lady by my side. I have a feeling time is of the essence.”
The urgency of his tone convinced her. Blanche rose from the chair and approached the door he blocked with his masculine frame. “I will have a bag packed at once. I suppose we cannot use the town carriage?”
Michael stepped away from the door. “You will take the town carriage to Dillian’s and send it away. Take only a bag your maid can carry. You will leave Dillian’s through the back gate and catch a hackney by the park. Have the hackney take you to the White Horse. I’ll meet you there. By the time we are finished, it will be impossible for anyone to trace your steps.”
Blanche shivered with anticipation. Blanche kissed Michael’s cheek. “I don’t care who you are, Michael Lawrence, you’re a gem among men.”
Twelve
Garbed in a country gentleman’s careless tweed and knee high leather boots, Michael twitched his riding crop in his gloved fingers and anxiously watched the inn yard. He tried reminding himself that he should peruse the second-hand clothing shops more frequently—this coat had seen better days—but his concentration focused on the arriving coaches and not the disrepair of his disguise.
He hoped Blanche had understood his instructions. If she arrived in full aristocratic regalia, she would make hiding their trail difficult.
He had already decided he’d lost his mind to even contemplate this journey. He should hop the next mail coach and save himself no end of grief, but he wouldn’t. He’d seen the despair in Blanche’s eyes, felt her grasping for some token of human warmth, and knew Neville couldn’t provide what she needed.
He would take her away to safety, give her an adventure to make her smile and forget the responsibility piled on her frail shoulders, and return her to Anglesey. With any luck, she would adopt an orphanage and find happiness with the children there. Right now, she wasn’t strong enough to accept the death of any more children, and that happened too frequently even in the best of orphanages. First, he must make her strong.
No, first he must make himself strong. He paced like a nervous bridegroom, aware that he seldom set about a task with less than full assurance of his ability to accomplish it, but Blanche made him second guess everything he did.
Michael hurried into the inn yard at sight of a small leather-clad boot stepping daintily from a coach.
She had wrapped herself in a coarse brown cloak and covered her hair with a brown bonnet adorned with brown roses. Brown roses. Michael shuddered at the abomination while admiring her choice. She had made herself as mousy and nondescript as a woman of her beauty could. The elongated bonnet brim successfully disguised the revealing scars as well as her hair. Thick mittens hid delicate fingers. She could be a governess or a squire’s wife.
Only when he reached her side did Michael realize Blanche arrived alone. Scowling, he caught her mittened hand, paid the coach driver, and hastily led her through the chaos of the inn yard. Arriving mail coach passengers shoved and shouted around them, yelling for their luggage, for post chaises, at each other and the animals. Blanche seemed startled by the confusion as he led her to a quiet corner inside, out of the immediate uproar.
“Where is your maid?” he whispered heatedly. He didn’t like lingering. Her family would start searching at posting inns once they discovered Blanche missing.
“I left her at home,” Blanche replied defiantly. “She had no desire to travel. I told her I would borrow one of Dillian’s maids. She could not help but talk, Michael. I have enough wealth to care nothing for gossip, but Neville
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