Eugenie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, but at least she was here to make sure there was no violence done when the moment of capture came. A wave of relief spread through her when she realized her adventure was nearly over. One more day in the coach and Terry would be safe. She could take him home and scold him—and hug him—as she longed to do.
And if she had any regrets about never seeing Sinclair again, then she would keep them to herself.
“Do you wish to wash and change?” His voice startled her. Deep in her thoughts she’d forgotten he was standing so close beside her. Now he leaned down, his breath warm against her cheek. “Eugenie, did you hear me?”
“I heard you, I’m just not sure I believe you,” she retorted, made nervous by his presence, and even more so by the fact he was being nice to her.
He gave a chuckle. His good humor appeared to have returned.
“Will you wait?” she added suspiciously. “Or is this a trick to be rid of me so that you can challenge Terry to a duel?”
His smile turned into a frown, because of course he considered her words a slight upon his character. “Of course I will wait,” he said. “And I have no intention of challenging your brother to a duel. I am a crack shot and he wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Unless you fired into the air.”
“If I did that he’d probably aim at my heart.”
“I’m relieved to hear you have one.”
“Have one what?”
“A heart.”
“Eugenie, go and tidy yourself,” he said irritably. “You are frightening the horses.”
Hardly the words of a gentleman, let alone a duke, she thought crossly. It was only when she reached the room she was directed to and looked into the mirror that she understood what he meant.
Her hair was dull from dust and riotous from the rain, making her wild curls even more irrepressible. There was a dusty smudge on her chin and her dress was wrinkled and creased, with mud dried in patches on the skirt from her ride to Somerton with Jack, and the hastily eaten bread and butter had caused greasy stains.
With the help of warm water and soap she quickly set herself to rights, grimacing as she dragged her comb through her hair. When she was clean and neat again, she went downstairs and found Sinclair in a private parlor with his boots on the hearth before a roaring fire and a tankard of the inn’s best ale in his hand. He looked up at her, quirking his eyebrows.
“Ah, I see you have put the hoyden to flight.”
Eugenie could see that Sinclair had taken the time to tidy up, too—his boots were shiny again and his dark blue coat had been brushed—but he seemed in a good mood and she didn’t want to spoil it by making a similar joke at h
is expense, no matter how sorely she was tempted.
The table in the room was set with a platter of food and a jug of strong, hot coffee, to which she added cream and sugar, before sitting opposite Sinclair, and sipping greedily. The heat from the fire was just as delicious and she felt it seeping into her tired bones. Once she’d set aside her empty cup she leaned her head back against the chair, suddenly very sleepy.
Sinclair was dozing, she noticed with a smile, his mouth partly open as he softly snored, while a lock of his dark hair had fallen artistically across his brow.
Anyone seeing him now wouldn’t believe him to be the most eligible man in England, she told herself, and yet somehow, to Eugenie, he still was. He always would be. The truth was she much preferred this man, human and fallible as he was, to the chilly and arrogant duke he displayed to the rest of the world.
Eugenie yawned. She really was very, very tired.
With a little wriggle of contentment, she closed her eyes and slept.
Chapter 23
She awoke to someone shaking her. Blinking, bleary-eyed, she looked up into Sinclair’s flushed and angry face.
“You were asleep!” he roared accusingly.
“W-what?”
He was already striding from the room. “We won’t catch up with them before dark if we don’t hurry!”
Eugenie stumbled after him, tripping on her hem. “But you were asleep . . .” she began, only to fall forward into his arms as he turned. He caught her, holding with his hands firmly about her slender waist. “ . . . too,” she finished hoarsely.