Never Trust a Rebel(11)

Their conversation helped to pass the time but the pace was still gruelling. Elyse accepted it stoically, making no complaint at the brevity of the stops, but when her escort handed her down from the carriage late in the afternoon signs of her exhaustion must have been apparent in her face, for he ordered the landlord to show them into a private parlour. Elyse immediately protested, begging him not to prolong their journey for her sake.

‘We are making good time,’ he said, leading her into the inn. ‘We can afford to take a little rest here and still reach St Neots this evening. After that it is but fifty miles to London and if the weather holds you will be with Lord Whittlewood by tomorrow night.’

The landlord escorted them to a comfortable room on the first floor and went off, promising to send up refreshments.

‘Do you always travel at this breakneck speed?’ asked Elyse, removing her cloak and bonnet. She eyed the cushion-strewn settle but did not sit down, her bones still protesting from the long hours sitting in the carriage.

‘Only when it is necessary.’

She smiled. ‘And you are anxious to be rid of your tiresome burden, is that it?’

‘Do not be putting words into my mouth, Miss Salforde.’

She laughed at that. ‘You could always disclaim and respond with some courteous remark, Mr Bastion.’

‘What would you have me say, that I wish the journey could go on for ever, solely for the pleasure of enjoying your company?’

She saw the humorous quirk to his lips and fluttered her eyelashes, murmuring, ‘That is what many gentlemen of my acquaintance would tell me.’

He smiled and shook his head.

‘Then they are nodcocks,’ he said. ‘To subject a lady to the rigours of a journey for any longer than necessary is not the way to win her favour. She would end up tired, cross and extremely bruised.’

A gurgle of laughter escaped her.

‘I should take issue with you for disparaging my admirers in that way, but honesty compels me to agree, sir.’ She put one hand on her back and rubbed it. ‘I should not appreciate any gentlemen who prolonged this experience.’

‘Has it been very trying? You have been very brave, enduring it all without a word.’

‘No, no, it has not been so very bad.’

She broke in, flushing at this unexpected praise and moved towards the table as a serving maid entered at that moment with a laden tray. Elyse was surprised and unsettled by his approval and could not quite understand why. After all, other men paid her much more fulsome compliments and she took them in her stride.

The coffee was freshly brewed and Elyse was grateful to have time to appreciate it, and to enjoy a couple of the sweet biscuits that the maid told her the landlady had baked fresh that morning. Feeling much better for the rest she took advantage of the landlady’s offer of a private room, where she might wash her face and hands and make use of the mirror to tidy her hair. When she returned the door of their private parlour was open and she could see the serving maid clearing the table. Drew Bastion was still in his seat, leaning back in his chair and idly watching the girl as she gathered the dishes on to a tray. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere and he did not appear to notice that the girl was flaunting herself before him. Elyse could see that the thin white edge of her chemise peeping above her bodice did little to hide her generous bosom as she leaned over to collect the final cup.

‘Is there anythin’ else I can do for you, sir?’

There was a blatant invitation in the maid’s voice and in every line of her body as she straightened and stood for a moment, hands on hips. Neither of them had seen Elyse in the passage and she broke her stride, waiting for the gentleman’s response. He glanced up at the maid, his thoughtful look replaced by a grin and a wicked look. Even from a distance Elyse could feel the power of his charm.

‘No, thank you, Rose. That is all.’

Rose? Elyse blinked. She had only been away for five minutes. How had he discovered the maid’s name so quickly? With a cough and a brisk step she carried on into the room. As she entered the maid picked up the tray, dropped a quick curtsy to her, cast a roguish glance towards Drew and went out, humming to herself. Elyse kept her lips firmly closed, torn between irritation that a servant should be so forward and a sneaking admiration at such cool composure.

Drew Bastion rose and pulled out his watch.

‘Are you feeling better now? I think we should be moving on.’

‘Already?’

It felt as if her body had only just recovered from the continual jolting of the carriage and Elyse had to steel herself not to beg for another ten minutes before they resumed their journey. Something of her struggle must have shown in her face, for as he placed her cloak about her shoulders he said,

‘Chin up, my dear. There is not much further to go tonight.’

His gentle words, combined with the feel of his hands resting on her shoulders sent a wave of something she did not understand washing through her, from her head to the tips of her toes. She stood very still, wanting to make some laughing rejoinder but her wits had deserted her. She was all too aware of him standing behind her, could feel his strength enveloping her. She wanted to close her eyes and lean back against him, and she could only be thankful when he moved away to collect his hat and gloves before opening the door.

‘Shall we go?’

Forcing a smile she preceded him out of the inn. She did not look up when he handed her into the chaise and busied herself with arranging her skirts until the door was shut and they were on their way. Then she sank back against the squabs and closed her eyes, taking time to consider just why she was so unsettled by that one small act of courtesy.

She thought back over the moment, remembering the profound comfort of Andrew Bastion’s presence. She felt that it was not merely the cloak that he was wrapping around her, but his whole being, warm and dependable. To have someone to lean on, someone taking care of her, was an unfamiliar sensation.

Aunt Matthews was a kind and loving companion, but she had never instilled in Elyse the feeling of security that she now experienced. It was something that had been lacking for most of her life. From the moment Elyse had emerged from the schoolroom she had known that hers was the more forceful character. Aunt Matthews might suggest or advise, but she was happy to allow Elyse to go her own way. In a very short time Elyse had taken charge of the household, organising the menus, discussing budgets and staff changes with the housekeeper and deciding which parties they should attend.

In truth, it had been Elyse’s idea not to cancel the soirée when they had been informed of Papa’s sudden demise. Elyse had argued that there could be no impropriety in having guests, as long as they provided no entertainment. She had insisted that their friends would want to call and offer their sympathies. She had been right, of course, their drawing room had been full and no one had voiced disapproval until Andrew Bastion had appeared. And the fact that he had found her in the arms of one of her swains had made it very difficult for her to justify the decision.

Elyse had thought him rude and overbearing when he had first arrived, but she had to admit that there was something very pleasant about having someone else take responsibility for her comfort. Her eyes flew open. This would not do. She would not allow anyone to run her life—except her husband, of course. When she was married to William she would naturally love, honour and obey him. A tiny voice in her head whispered that she might not find it easy to acquiesce in all things, but William loved her, so she had no doubt that they would be able to resolve any little disputes quite amicably. After all, she considered herself to be quite an easygoing person and never fell out with anyone.

Except Mr Andrew Bastion. She stole a glance at him. He was staring out of the window, lost in thought. He had a very strong profile, she thought, observing his wide brow, the lean jaw, the set of his lips. Masterful.

She remembered his autocratic behaviour when they had first met. Surely it was not at all surprising that she was annoyed with him when he had appeared from nowhere and began to organise her life? No man had been her master, not since those far-off days as a very young child when Papa had been at home, looking after her and Mama, promising to take care of them for ever. So long ago, now, but no one would replace her papa. No one. Certainly not Andrew Bastion, even though he was her guardian.

She thought back a little wistfully to the past few heady years in Scarborough. She had learned that with a few smiles and pretty words she could wrap the men of her acquaintance around her little finger. She did not see why Andrew Bastion should be any different. She sat up a little straighter, a daring plan forming in her mind. He was already softening towards her; witness his behaviour in the coffee room. Perhaps, with a little more effort, he might become more amenable.



‘Well, this is it, Miss Salforde. Our final night on the road. Tomorrow we shall be in London.’

Drew picked up his glass and regarded his dining companion over the rim. They were sitting at the dining table in a private parlour of the busy hostelry he had chosen for their last overnight sojourn. The dinner had been excellent, served by the landlady herself with the help of her son who, despite his best attempts, could not prevent himself from staring in silent admiration at Miss Salforde.