“I will not touch her for one month,” he said.
Miss Larke nodded regally. Without another word, Rafe covered the few steps to the carriage and yanked open its door. Thea said her final farewells and joined him.
“How do you know Miss Larke?” he asked abruptly.
“We met at the Winchester Ladies’ Academy.” Thea bit her lip. He suspected she had answered as Thea, not Helen. “Mr. Larke sent Arabella there in the vain hope of making her more demure. My parents sent me to gain some extra polish.”
“And to meet high-born ladies, I suspect. A time-honored tactic for social climbers.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I suppose you begrudge my family their ambition, though it is only what our society demands.”
Rafe shrugged. “If people are foolish enough to believe that joining the upper class is worth that much trouble, that’s their problem.”
“I suppose people always want what they cannot have,” she said. “Not you, of course, because you’re not people.”
“No.” He held out a hand to help her into the carriage. “Your carriage awaits, Lady Luxborough.”
“Lady Luxborough,” she repeated with great amusement, and placed her gloved hand on his, warm and alive. It occurred to him with some surprise that this was the first time they had touched. She laughed lightly, and her laughter shot into his hand and up his arm like an electric charge. “Lord and Lady Lucks-bor-ough. Oh—Do they call you ‘Lucky’?”
“Astonishingly enough, they do not.”
Again, she laughed, as she stepped up into the carriage. He let her go, still feeling her warmth and weight, and watched as she arranged her cloak and skirt and sat back, looking about her with delight. She had blankets, as well as a basket of food and drink, and the company of the orchids.
She smiled back at him. “Gilbert says you will travel by horseback, and not in the carriage with me.”
“I daresay you will find the plants’ conversation more stimulating than my own.”
“Oh, you’re not that bad,” she said cheerfully. “I could almost enjoy talking to you.”
He could travel with her, he supposed. It would be more comfortable riding in the carriage than on horseback. They could chat, or not. She could come up with nonsense, and he could pretend not to be amused. He could simply look at her.
Rafe stepped back, slammed the carriage door shut, and made for his horse with such briskness that the startled creature shied away.
A day riding did little to improve Lord Luxborough’s disposition, Thea observed, when they stopped at an inn for the night. Without giving Thea so much as a nod, he left the men to deal with the carriage and strode inside.
The innkeeper took one look at the earl and greeted him as “my lord.” Scowling, Luxborough insisted that he was Mr. Cross, traveling with Mrs. Cross, and demanded separate rooms. The innkeeper began to protest, but a quelling look persuaded him that he could find some rooms, if his lordship, that is, Mr. Cross, didn’t mind waiting.
“We’ll wait in the private parlor,” Luxborough said, and marched straight for it.
The innkeeper scuttled after him. “I’m afraid it’s occupied, m’lord, I mean, Mr. Cross. You see, a small party—”
“Tell them to get out.”
Luxborough threw open the door and froze, aghast. Thea hurried to his side to see what horror lay within. A horror indeed: four women and two children, nearly all of who were weeping.
“What the hell is this?”
The earl shot a furious look at the innkeeper, as though the man had pinched the women to make them cry, purely for his inconvenience. Then one of the children, eyes on Luxborough, cried, “Auntie, it’s the Devil come for us!” and emitted an ear-piercing scream.
Luxborough slammed the door shut.
“Some kind of tragedy, m’lord, I mean, Mr. Cross,” the innkeeper whispered. “They can’t afford the parlor, but I put them there so as not to upset everyone. Weeping women puts people right off their food, it does. It’s the economics of it, m’lord, I mean, Mr. Cross. A man’s got to think of his economics. But if your lordship insists. I mean, Mr. Cross. Sir.”
The innkeeper flashed a worried smile at Thea, who tried to return it. Luxborough made a growling sound and dug out some coins.
“How’s this for your blasted economics? This’ll cover the cost of the parlor for them,” he said irritably. “And send them in food and drink too.”
The innkeeper eagerly took the coins. “Too kind, m’lord, I mean, Mr. Cross. Now, wait one shake of my tail and I’ll have a table cleared in the main tavern.”