Sin With a Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club 4)

They were in the stable yard of a coaching inn, awaiting a change of horses. The others were inside the inn partaking of some refreshments but Maria and Archie had quickly scoffed down their own food and drink so that they could spend a moment together, alone.

“My mistress is unhappy.” Maria sighed, speaking aloud the worry that was concerning her the most. “Your master has broken her heart, and I don’t think she’ll ever forgive him. And now Lord Horace’s being hauled off like a criminal. It is not right, Archie.”

“Maria, I know you told Miss Smythe about Mr. Eversham.”

Maria’s eyes widened, and then she gave a little fatalistic shrug. “I’m sorry. I had to tell her. I didn’t want to break my word to you, but—”

“No, no, I think I knew you’d have to tell her, eventually.”

Maria nodded unhappily, expecting him to accuse her of choosing Tina over him, thinking he wouldn’t understand.

Instead he surprised her.

“This is something they will have to sort out themselves. It isn’t up to us to mend it for them—if it can be mended.”

“I have looked after Miss Tina for many years, Archie.”

“And has she ever asked for your advice? Has she always listened to it?”

“Well . . . not always. She is a strong-willed young woman.”

“I thought so. Maria, let her make her own mistakes. You can’t always be there; you won’t always be there. You have your own life to lead now.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then met his eyes and decided against it. Archie was right. Miss Tina must travel her own path in life.

“I will not have a position as maid after this is over,” she informed him with a little wobble in her voice. “They cannot afford me any longer, so I will have to find another position, or . . . or I can go home. To Spain.”

There, she’d spoken the words that for so long she’d held close to her heart. Home. After all these years.

And yet, strangely, it didn’t have the same appeal as it used to. The vision in her head was still there, the shady groves and the baked plains, but they had the air of something a little old, a little tarnished. And here was Archie in front of her, alive and solid and so very real.

He touched her hand and lifted it to his lips.

“I love you, Maria. I know our relationship started as a job, a way of getting information, but I only had to look into your eyes and all that changed. I want to marry you.”

“Archie . . .”

“No, there’s no need to answer now. I know you want to go home. I wish I could go with you. Perhaps I will. Thumb my nose at the authorities, eh?”

Maria shook her head. She knew if she allowed him to go to Spain, she would be leading him into danger, and she couldn’t do that. This decision was one she alone had to make.

The silence between them lengthened, and soon it was time to climb back inside the coach.

Richard looked up as Tina entered the private parlor, she having been upstairs to the room he’d engaged, to brush her hair and tidy herself. He was alone now, with Will having returned to the coach, and Archie and Maria slipping off somewhere together.

Seeing him she started, made as if to turn and leave again, then changed her mind. Slowly she came to the fire and held out her hands. He could see the shadows under her eyes, the unhappy droop to her mouth, and wished he could make it all better. But that wasn’t going to happen, and he very much doubted she would allow him to try.

You are an expert in situations like this, Richard, a voice in his head chastened him. Who do gentlemen turn to when they have all but given up? You! And why do they come to you? Because you are an expert!

Richard wasn’t quite sure it was the same when it was the expert himself who was seeking to win his ladylove, but in one respect the inner voice was right: What did he have to lose?

“I’m sorry,” he said.

First rule of winning your ladylove: apologize. It doesn’t matter what you are apologizing for, or whether or not you’ve done anything wrong, just apologize, and keep apologizing.

“I’m so sorry, Tina.”

She gave him a suspicious glance before turning back to the fire. “What are you sorry for?”