Page 35 of Appointment in Bath

He remained close to her, continuing his speech as though he hadn’t just spiked the temperature of her blood by several degrees. “After his father died, Ruggiero ended up stranded in Rome, without a penny to his name. He decided to remain. Said it was better to be a pauper in sunny Italy than left cold and humiliated back in Kent. Problem was, the longer he stayed, the worse his circumstances.”

“What had that t-to do with you?” she asked.

“Nothing at all. But he has no one else to help him—no friends or family remaining in England. And he wanted to come home. It was past time he did.”

“So you t-took it upon yourself t-to rescue him.”

“I dispute that it was a rescue. But yes, I did help him, first by hiring him and then by bringing him back with me. Why not? He practically threw himself in my path.”

“As I did.” Her breath was a visible puff in the chill night air.

“I beg your pardon?” The glow of the lantern illuminated the gleaming white of his linen shirt and shimmered in the silk of his shawl-collared waistcoat.

Absent his coat, his tall, lean frame was even more imposing. He was obviously strong. Not at all a dandy or a soft, country squire prone to indulging himself. His midsection was lean, his muscles hard, and every inch of him as magnificent as any Arthurian hero.

But heroism wasn’t always romantic. Sometimes it was unwanted. Unwelcome. Especially if it was motivated for reasons abhorrent to a lady.

“I threw m-myself in your path,” she said. “That day by Sefton Bridge. It wasn’t on p-purpose, but… Of course you m-must help me. You always d-do help sad figures such as m-myself.”

His brows shot up. “You’re implying that I felt sorry for you?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No,” he said. “I—”

“And th-that isn’t the worst of it,” Meg said.

Her heart trembled against her ribs, like a bird battering at the bars of its cage. She knew what would happen if she spoke the next bit aloud. Their budding friendship would be over before it had fully begun. Ivo Beresford would depart from her life. But if what Mr. Ruggiero had told her was true, her friendship with Mr. Beresford was no friendship at all.

“What can be worse?” he asked.

She steeled herself. “Is it true that you m-must have my father’s approval in order to b-build your railway extension?”

Mr. Beresford stilled. He was silent for a full three seconds. And then: “Yes. It’s true.”

Meg’s heart dropped. No longer fluttering, it went cold in her breast. “Is th-that why you suggested we should be friends?”

His gray eyes darkened like twin storm clouds. “Is that what you think?”

“Is it?” she pressed.

“No it isn’t, by God,” he said fiercely. “For heaven’s sake, Meg. Do you hold yourself in such low regard?”

She wouldn’t be diverted. No matter that he’d never used her given name before. No matter that his question stung her to the soul. “It isn’t about m-me,” she shot back. “I d-didn’t suggest we m-meet to go riding under…under f-false pretenses.”

“I didn’t—”

“You said you were on your own and th-that you’d be glad of the company. You d-didn’t say anything about m-my father.”

He scowled down at her. “Because your father was the last thing on my mind, drat it all!”

“But he was on your m-mind?”

Mr. Beresford opened his mouth to deny it only to close it again. It was answer enough.

The clatter of pots echoed from the kitchen, a reminder that they weren’t alone. There was nothing that happened here that wouldn’t be remarked on the instant they returned.

She stiffened with indignation at the position he’d put her in. To have to confront him here of all places. “You shouldn’t have c-come after me. You’ll only subject m-me to gossip.”