Sir Gideon lifted a heavy wicker basket packed with food from the back of the carriage. To her embarrassment, her belly rumbled. Her stepbrothers had kept her on minimal rations, hoping hunger would sap her resistance.
It was a silent meal. As the four of them sat around the merrily burning little fire, Charis prepared for more questions. Any questions. But her companions seemed astoundingly ready to accept her lies at face value. Guilt settled like a stone in her now-full belly, and she pushed away the pork pie she’d barely nibbled at.
“Are you feeling better?” Sir Gideon asked, noticing her sudden stillness. Of course he noticed. Throughout the meal, he’d studied her across the flames. He sat directly opposite her, with Tulliver and Akash on either side.
“Yes, thank you.”
With surprise, she realized it was true. Her face didn’t sting so badly, and the pain in her arm was a distant throb rather than fiery agony.
She sipped fine claret from the traveler’s cup Sir Gideon passed her. The men had made do with drinking from the bottle. It was oddly intimate to place her lips where Gideon’s had once been, however long ago. Almost like a kiss. The thought made her blush even while her lips tingled as though they indeed brushed his.
After supper, Tulliver returned to the horses, and Akash and Sir Gideon cleared up. Charis frowned. Could Gideon really be a man of her own class if he accepted such mundane tasks? He was strangely comfortable with his rough surroundings. Her stepbrothers wouldn’t dream of dirtying their hands with rinsing a plate or setting a fire. Servants were there to serve. The landed classes were there to be served.
The relationship between the men was puzzling too. Tulliver seemed on friendly terms with his masters. Akash was surely also an employee, yet he and Sir Gideon treated each other as equals.
Gideon opened the carriage door for her. Again, he didn’t assist her inside. The easy, automatic action of a gentleman. Yet he didn’t do it. Instead, Akash stepped forward and helped her into the carriage. Wearing the greatcoat loose around her shoulders and with her sling, she couldn’t have managed otherwise.
“Miss Watson.”
“Thank you, Akash,” she murmured, and was hardly aware when he moved away.
Instead, her eyes fastened on Sir Gideon, who waited outside. A cloud covered the moon, and the striking face became a mixture of shadows and light. Still beautiful but sinister.
She shivered. “Who are you?” she whispered, subsiding onto her seat.
“Who are you?” His dark gaze didn’t waver from her as he resumed his place opposite, his back to the horses, as a gentleman would.
Charis wrapped the coat around her against the sharp early-morning chill and settled her injured arm more comfortably. “I asked first.”
It was a childish response, and she knew he recognized it as such from the twitch of his firm mouth. Like the rest of his face, his mouth was perfect. Sharply cut upper lip indicating character and integrity. A fuller lower lip indicating…
Something stirred and smoldered in her belly as she stared at him in the electric silence. What a time to re
alize she’d never before been alone with a man who wasn’t a relative. The moment seemed dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with her quest to escape Felix and Hubert.
“My name is Gideon Trevithick.” He paused as if expecting a response but the name meant nothing to her. “Of Penrhyn in Cornwall.”
“Is that a famous house?” Perhaps that explained his watchful reaction.
Another wry smile. “No. That’s two questions. My turn.”
She stiffened although she should have expected this. And long before now.
“I’m tired.” It was true, although a good meal and Akash’s skills meant she didn’t feel nearly as low as she had.
“It’s a long journey to Portsmouth. Surely you can stay awake a few moments to entertain your fellow traveler.”
She sighed. Her deceit made her sick with self-loathing. But what could she do? If she told the truth, he’d hand her over to the nearest magistrate.
“I’ve told you my name and where I live. I’ve told you the disaster that befell me today. I seek my aunt in Portsmouth.” Her uninjured hand fiddled at the sling and betrayed her nervousness. With a shuddering breath, she pressed her palm flat on her lap. “We’re chance-met travelers. What else can you need to know?” She knew she sounded churlish, but she hated telling lies.
In the uncertain light, his face was a gorgeous mask. She had no idea if he believed her or not. He paused as if winnowing her answers, then spoke in a somber voice. “I need to know why you’re so frightened.”
“The footpads…”
He made a slashing gesture with his gloved hand, silencing her. “If you truly had been set upon by thieves, you wouldn’t have hidden in the stable. Won’t you trust me, Sarah?” His soft request vibrated deep in her bones, and for one yearning moment, she almost told him the truth. Before she remembered what was at stake.
“I…I have trusted you,” she said huskily. She swallowed nervously. His use of her Christian name, even a false one, established a new intimacy. It made her lies more heinous.