The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe by Sabrina Darby

her meddling actions were hardly the sort of behavior of any respectable lady. “It isn’t your place. And I cannot say I’m happy with your report.”
    A frisson of alarm crept down Angelina’s back.
    â€œYou don’t intend to pay?”
    Mrs. Martin pressed her lips tightly together.
    â€œI shouldn’t. Certainly not one hundred pounds . . . but I am a woman of my word and I hope that I shall find you have been as well.” She took her purse from her dress, withdrew a folded banknote, which she held out gingerly.
    Mrs. Martin found this whole business distasteful. How amusing.
    â€œI wish him all the best,” Angelina said, accepting the money with a tight smile. She turned to leave and then stopped, unsettled. She had to say something. She looked back over her shoulder to find Mrs. Martin hadn’t moved, was staring after her with a thoughtful expression on her face.
    â€œMrs. Martin?” The other woman raised one questioning eyebrow that reminded Angelina of John. She swallowed hard. “Please, no more schemes. Give him the space he needs.”

 
    C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
    A t noon, John climbed down the scaffold and walked back into the great hall. Empty still. Of course, she’d only left two hours earlier. Perhaps she’d wanted a proper bath, or had letters to write, or some other business to attend to. It was market day as well. She hadn’t actually said she’d be back in time for the midday meal to which he’d so recently grown accustomed.
    It was nearly three when he dressed properly and then started down the path himself. The market would be over by now, but he needed more nails. Or he would eventually need more nails, and it was just as well to be prepared ahead of time.
    Or maybe . . . maybe he wanted to make certain nothing had happened to Angelina. As safe as Auldale usually was, it was market day. Or perhaps she’d tripped on a downed tree. He should have cleared this path days ago, or accompanied her every time she went back to the village.
    A bit late for the concern.
    Not that anything had happened to her. This was Auldale. Peaceful, dull corner of Yorkshire. In fact, Angelina was the only stranger. Not that she was a stranger to him anymore. How could she be when he knew what made her laugh and what made her smirk? When he knew intimately every inch of her body? Knew about her childhood, her past lovers, and her dreams for her future?
    Her future. That was why he was uneasy, swallowing up the countryside with vigorous strides.
    She’d said nothing that morning. No acknowledgement that he’d said anything at all.
    She eventually wanted to go back to London and the noisy, exciting life she’d described, back to the stage.
    He wanted her to stay. Stay indefinitely. Move all her belongings to the castle and give up that room at the inn. Make eventually some very distant time.
    Foolishness. He’d known her for all of two weeks. Not even that.
    Yet, he did know her. Better than he’d ever known anyone else.
    And he was damned sure that she cared for him too. Only, she’d hidden everything underneath that flirtatious smile, and he’d let her.
    The inn was busy for Auldale, filled with a half dozen tradesmen and locals sharing drinks after the morning’s work. Mr. Garrett, the innkeeper, spied John and ambled over.
    â€œAfternoon, Captain.” John winced at the honorific. But it was a measure of the villagers’ respect that they didn’t return to the simpler Mr. Martin. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, but if you’re looking for the miss, she left a few hours ago.”
    â€œMiss Whitcombe?”
    Garrett nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable.
    â€œSaid she wanted to catch the coach on the London Road. Brown and his wife took her up in their wagon.”
    â€œMiss Whitcombe left?”
    â€œYes, Captain,” Garrett said slowly, as if he needed to enunciate each