Page 25

“I cannot keep calling you Aphrodite,” said the man who had both caused and rescued Elaine from her chief problem.

In truth, her stupid, outraged modesty had quickly disintegrated with his practical help, and her clumsy fall had caused her no greater injury than a couple of grazes she could feel on the back of her arm and elbow.

The normally fierce Blackhaven wind even cooperated with her plight, remaining gentle, and so after a very few minutes of brisk walking, she no longer shivered from the cold.

“Then don’t,” she suggested. “It is most certainly not my name.”

“What is?” he asked.

She considered. “I don’t think I’m going to tell you that.”

“In case I blab your adventure all round town? I assure you, I shall be leaving Blackhaven later today.”

“There are towns other than Blackhaven,” she said wryly—because, in fact, she had been thinking of London.

The man had the air of town bronze about him.

He was no country squire. In fact, as she regarded him directly, her heart gave a definite bump of attraction.

Tall, straight, and strong—she had felt the powerful, flexing muscle when he lifted her off her feet twice—he was undeniably a handsome man, despite the rather harsh if intelligent features of his face.

In repose, his steel-gray eyes were hard and yet somehow not cold.

There was humor there too. She thought he might be older than her, though surely by no more than a few years.

He looked like an interesting man, and he certainly interested her more than he should.

“You wound my pride, Aphrodite,” he said quietly.

Though she felt herself blushing—for he had said and done nothing to make her doubt his gentlemanly credentials—she said with deliberate humor, “ Miss Aphrodite might suffice.”

“Miss?” he repeated, looking at her. “Then you are not married?”

Elaine sighed. “Because every woman of my years should be married?”

“No. But I find myself glad that you are not.”

“I cannot think why.”

“Neither can I,” he admitted. “But for some reason, I like that you do not belong to anyone else.”

“So do I,” she said cordially. And found herself adding, “My name is Elaine Talbot.”

“Talbot,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Any relation to Linfield?”

“He is my brother.”

“Then I am doubly pleased to meet you, Miss Talbot.”

She waited for almost a full minute, but it seemed he needed to be prompted. “And you, sir?”

“Ah, sadly, I am incognito.”

“Visiting royalty,” she mocked. “Lest you feel too superior, you should know that the Blackhaven doctor’s wife is a princess. We are not easily impressed here.”

“I did not suspect you of being a native,” he said in clear surprise.

“Oh, I’m not, but I know the town well. I have family here—extended family, you might say.”

“Would you like to run while no one is around?”

“What?”

Before she understood what he meant to do, he caught her hand and began to run.

Flabbergasted, she found herself running too, her skirts flapping about her legs, until gradually she began to remember her childhood, and later as a young girl, leaping across Mediterranean sand, splashing in the sea…

And then she forgot everything except the current exhilaration of racing along with him, her own dignity and his quite forgotten in the sense of pure fun.

And yet she was aware, very aware, of the warmth of his hand and the strength of his fingers…

Only when they jumped together over a flattish rock and encountered a lady and her dog walking in front did they slow and resume a more conventional walk with her hand back in his arm.

“You are very…eccentric to be incognito,” she remarked breathlessly. “I’m sure I shall find you out in no time. Perhaps you don’t realize how many prominent members of Society visit the town. Or even live here.”

“Thank you for the warning. Though I am not remotely eccentric. I am, in fact, quite staid.”

“Is that what your wife says?” she asked lightly, marriage being a common reason for visiting remote places incognito.

And he seemed to recognize the accusation implicit in her question, which she regretted almost as soon as she had asked. After all, what business was it of hers?

“Oddly enough, she never accused me of being staid,” he said. “Though she might have in recent years. I am a widower, you know, and so, like you, I belong to no one else.”

For some reason, she felt heat rise to her face once more. “I’m sorry. I should not have asked.”

“No, I am being unfair in withholding information when you are being so open. Words carry on beaches and cliffs, and we appear to be approaching more people. I must hurry. Perhaps we may meet again before I leave the town.”

“Perhaps,” she said, surprised by her own wistfulness. There was something about him, more than his sense of fun and her own sudden illusion of youth. “Are you staying at the hotel?”

“No, at the King’s Head inn.”

“Then don’t let me keep you.”

“The hotel is on my way—unless you truly wish to be rid of me?”

She truly didn’t, and that was rather alarming too.

They walked through the town without speaking much. Reality was washing back over her. She had to decide what to do about Joe and Jenny. And stop thinking of this bizarre encounter with a stranger who had seen her almost naked. Who had touched her in nothing but her shift!

And helped her. And run hand in hand with her as though he had enjoyed the revolt back to childhood as much as she.

The doorman at the hotel greeted her by name and opened the door for her. Retrieving her arm with odd reluctance, she half turned to say goodbye to her new acquaintance. But it seemed he was seeing her safely inside, still the perfect gentleman.

And clearly she should not have left those children alone. They were confronting two somewhat disreputable-looking characters in the foyer, and Jenny was hanging on to Joe’s hand for dear life, as though preventing him from punching someone.

“Oh dear,” she muttered, hurrying forward. But her companion swept ahead of her.

“Really, Joe,” he drawled, rapidly covering the ground without appearing to do more than stroll.

“No more corpses, I beg.” He turned to the strangers, clapping a handkerchief to his mouth.

“Sirs, there are ladies present. Porter,” he threw over his shoulder, and the doorman plus another liveried member of staff materialized at his command, “please show these gentlemen the way.”

The smaller man looked inclined to argue, though his companion, who appeared to recognize Elaine’s new friend with some shock and absolutely no pleasure, merely tossed his head and marched toward the door. A raised eyebrow was enough to send the second man scurrying after him.

Relieved, Elaine tore her gaze from the imperious and rather grand figure her friend had turned into and looked anxiously at the “children” instead. Both of them were regarding her with her acute disappointment.

“You betrayed us,” Joe said disgustedly.

“Betrayed you?” she asked, bewildered. “How? To whom?”

“To His Grace,” Joe fumed. Then, as she continued to gaze at him, he flung up one pointing finger. “To him , the Duke of Drimmen, my so-called guardian!”

Elaine was aware her jaw dropped in a most unladylike fashion, but there seemed to be nothing she could do about it.

“Oh, speak up, Joe,” her new friend said sarcastically. “There might be someone in the town who didn’t hear.”

Joe flushed a bright red, though his eyes spat fury.

Elaine closed her mouth and judged it time to interfere. “Shall we go up to my sitting room? Breakfast for four, if you please,” she added to the hotel servant before sailing past everyone to the staircase.

She had no idea whether any of them would follow her, but her intervention seemed to have brought everyone back to a sense of discretion, for, somewhat to her relief, she heard their footsteps following her silently upstairs.

It was with somewhat mixed feelings she reached her rooms. While the others entered, still in silence, she walked across to her bedchamber door and hurled her reticule containing the sodden chemise into the room. She closed the door on it with a snap, then removed her hat, setting it on the table.

“Please, sit and be comfortable,” she said without looking at the duke whom she had thought her new friend. But he knew. He knew all along and was testing me…

It was a blow to her own opinion of her character judgment, but more than that, it hurt, trivializing the imagined connection with him that she had enjoyed so much.

Now, she had to focus on the children who assumed she had betrayed them to the duke, and salvage what she could for them. For herself, she was still in Blackhaven. She would visit the Vales, who could always lift the lowest of spirits… And Elaine’s were not low. She would not allow them to be.

No one had sat down. They all remained scowling at her.

“Very well, remain standing,” she snapped.

“I suggest we at least dispense with disguises and aliases before the servants bring breakfast. After which you may stand and watch me eat or clear off. It is a matter of supreme indifference to me. Mr. Knight, if that is your real name, you may apologize for your accusation after you have made formal—and accurate—introductions.”

She sat in the first comfortable chair as though it were her throne and regarded Joe Knight. His black scowl had become one of uncertainty.

“You already know who we are. You walked in with His Grace, so I assumed…”

Elaine sighed. “There has been too much assuming.” Reluctantly, she looked at the stony-faced duke. “What is it Your Grace wishes to accuse me of? Harboring the enemy? Abduction of minors?”

Oh yes, those gray eyes were cold. Icily so. “Legally speaking, I believe only Miss Smith could be described as a minor.”

Hardly a ringing approval of Elaine’s actions.