Page 40 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

George, however, proved himself as invaluable as Stonehaven suspected he would.

Along the journey, he took time to describe the countryside they travelled through, to explain strange noises or remark upon something that took his interest. He did it so easily and without drawing attention to the fact he was describing things to a blind man, just as if he was passing the time of day with a friend.

Many might be outraged to see a lowborn gardener conversing on such easy terms with a marquess, but for all Stonehaven cared, such people could take a running jump.

He did not care what he had to do to induce George to work for him, either.

He’d do it, and gladly, even if he had to set the fellow up in lavish style and pay him a small fortune.

The trust he felt for the soft-spoken fellow was hard to explain, but he knew enough about life and the people in it to realise he’d not find it again any time soon.

The only other person who gave him such a feeling of security and confidence was Sally.

Ah, but he ought not to have thought of Sally.

Just a little infatuation, he told himself.

It will wear off. You’re just all at sea since losing your sight.

She was sweet and kind, and you clung to her for comfort.

That’s all it was. He repeated such inanities to himself over and over, reminding himself that he did not know her.

Not true, his heart told him. He knew that she was brave enough to question the things he said, not take them at face value, brave enough to encourage him to push himself and not see him kept safe in a comfortable prison.

She had been courageous enough to show him her feelings when he might have rejected her or taken advantage of her innocence and her affection for him.

In the short time he had known her, she had made him feel brave again, made him want to prove himself for her sake as well as his own.

But it had been such a short time, surely such feelings could not be real, not lasting—yet his heart refused to heed such sensible words.

His heart wanted him to howl like something wounded and tear up the world around him until they all suffered as he did.

But that was self-indulgent and crass. Stonehaven was a gentleman, and it mattered not if his heart was in tatters; there was no need to inflict his misery on anyone else.

So, he suffered in silence, stoic and outwardly calm, whilst inside his guts roiled and his heart endured the torments of the damned.

His patience, however, could only withstand so much.

“How much farther, damn it?” he exploded in the seconds after the carriage hit a pothole so deep it nearly jolted him onto the floor.

“I feel like I’ve been sealed in a bloody box and shaken for hours on end.

I swear I’ll go mad if I don’t get out of here soon!

” So much for behaving like a gentleman, he thought ruefully, but his nerves were worn thin, and he was beyond testy.

He needed a drink and some food before he could stand another hour in this blasted carriage, let alone all bloody afternoon.

“Reckon we’re ready to stop,” George replied calmly, shifting in his seat.

Stonehaven heard the window being pulled open, a sudden rush of cool air that brought scents of freshly turned earth and manure, and the sound of the horses' hooves clearer and sharper than before. “There’s an inn. The Blue Boy.”

“Thank God!” Stonehaven said in relief. “Kipping's Cross. I’ve stopped here with Beaumarsh before now. Good ale and good grub. We’re saved, George.”

George snorted. “Reckon I am. You’d have wrung my neck in another half hour.”

Stonehaven rubbed a weary hand over his face. “Miserable beggar, aren’t I? Sorry you came?” he asked, suddenly anxious that if he vexed George too much, he’d turn tail and go straight home.

“Nah. Not so far. Interesting, it is, and me never having been farther afield than Appledore. That was when I was a lad. Reckoned it was as far off as the moon back then, too,” he added with a chuckle.

Stonehaven let out a breath of relief. “Glad to hear it. Now, get me out of this blasted thing before I run mad.”

“Right you are. Shuffle over this side, then. The door’s open and the step is down. Mind, it’s uneven underfoot. There’s geese roaming about too, so don’t look to murder someone if they grab yer arse. None too friendly, the way they’re looking at us.”

“Well, scare ‘em off, George,” Stonehaven remarked, climbing down from the carriage.

“You’ve got the stick,” George replied amiably. “Right, aim quarter past twelve and we’ll be at the front door. No steps but there’s a puddle or two if you’ll let me guide you.”

Stonehaven nodded, taking George’s elbow.

“Pretty quiet today. Mind your head as we go through. Here—” George took his hand and put it up on the lintel so Stonehaven could duck as they entered the low-beamed old inn.

It didn’t take long for the landlord to recognise Stonehaven, and soon enough he was ensconced in a private parlour, with a blazing fire and the promise of food and drink to come, quick as a wink. The landlord said nothing about his eyes, or the scarring that had not been there upon his last visit.

“Staring at me, was he?” Stonehaven asked George once they were alone again.

“Fair bursting to ask what befell you,” George agreed. “Well, this is nice. Never had a private parlour before. This is what it’s like to be born a lord, eh?”

“Stick with me, George, and I’ll show you what it means to be a soft living nobleman.”

“Will you, eh? Don’t reckon so. Not spoiled, are ye?”

“Spoiled enough,” Stonehaven replied, and turned his face towards the fire.

He closed his eyes and wished he did not feel as though he were still in the damned carriage, but the swaying sensation persisted.

Though he had promised himself he would not think of her, he wondered what Sally was doing.

Had she realised he’d gone yet? Did she care?

Was she cross with him for not saying goodbye?

Yet how could he do such a thing, when his every instinct was to hold on to her and keep her near him always?

He did not trust himself not to make the offer.

Instead, he would have said anything, done anything to make her come with him, when he could offer her nothing but dishonour.

Even if he married her, she would live her life as an outcast, for no one would accept her, not his people, and not her own.

She’d be alone, imprisoned in a gilded cage with only him for company.

How she would despise him for it. Yet he knew he’d have struggled not to ask it of her, for he was a selfish bastard who wanted what he wanted, and he wanted her, damn it.

It seemed to Bea, and most especially to her behind, that the journey was far longer than she had anticipated, which was ridiculous, as she had known it would take her until nightfall.

But by the time they were approaching Kipping’s Cross, where Mr Marwick had informed her they would stop for a bite to eat, it was late in the day, and her backside was entirely numb.

“Right,” Mr Marwick said, guiding his pony to the side of the road. “We’d best take a moment to be sure you don’t land us in hot water. Get down and let me see you walk.”

Bea looked at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I need to see you walk up and down, to see how you move,” he said, looking somewhat impatient.

“How I move?” Bea repeated, a little indignant at the suggestion, but Mr Marwick rolled his eyes.

“Look, Miss Honeywell, you might not mind being run out of town on suspicion of abducting a young female, but I’d rather not be subjected to such a scene. Now walk up and down and let me see if you can pass as a man.”

“Oh!” Bea scrambled down from the carriage, rather mortified that she had misunderstood his intentions, and obligingly sauntered about.

“No, no. Try putting your hands in your pockets. Throw your shoulders back. You’re a young buck who thinks the world owes him, act like it.”

Bea, who had been determinedly rounding her shoulders in the hopes that her bust would escape notice, looked at him dubiously.

“You’ll draw more attention if you look like you’ve got something to hide,” Marwick insisted, gesturing for her to keep walking up and down. “Swagger a bit. Not too much, you’re not Prinny. Yes, that’s it. Better. Ah, now you’ve got it. Much better.”

Bea turned and grinned at him, and Marwick laughed. “We’ll make a young gentleman of you yet, Miss Honeywell,” he said dryly.

Bea laughed too and climbed back into the dogcart, feeling entirely pleased with herself, a state of affairs that increased tenfold upon overhearing a conversation as they entered the inn. The Marquess of Stonehaven had been there earlier in the day and stopped to enjoy an excellent lunch.

Bea was on the right track, and nothing now could stand in her way.