Page 16 of Better Off Wed

Why hadn’t she consulted a guide to the peerage?

At first, she had assumed the stranger was lying about his title. But the more Thornton probed, and the more the other man revealed, the more persuaded she became that he was telling the truth. Regrettably, he must actually be Lord Sterling.

Even more regrettably, the very real Lord Sterling was neither ancient nor feeble, and not entirely dull-witted. He had the potential to cause her a great deal of trouble.

Under different circumstances, his handsome face might at least have been a pleasant diversion; earlier, the feel of his arms around her had kindled a flicker of warmth in her chest that still kept the creeping combination of cold and pain at bay.

She snapped off the thought like a brittle twig, before it could grow branches or take root. She could not allow herself to be distracted by anything, especially now.

Besides, the more she saw of him, the more inclined she was to reject the adjective. Handsome he was not.

His face was like something from a painting of an angel, all perfect lines and angles. A flush of color crested his sharp cheekbones; in the dim interior of the carriage, she could not determine whether it was another blush. Dark hair, just a shade shy of being truly black, swept over his brow, framing a pair of startlingly blue eyes.

Beautiful was surely the better word for such a face, though she supposed most men would object to it. He was not any less manly for it, though. He had carried her effortlessly from the pub, and he answered Thornton without servility, though he was considerably younger than the earl, not yet thirty, she thought. As sham husbands went, a young lady might certainly do worse.

But Laura did not want any sort of husband, pretend or otherwise.

She must focus her mind on more pressing business.

How had he recognized her? And what were his intentions toward her?

Perhaps he sought to avenge a friend on whom Lady Sterling had been asked to pay a call. Or perhaps she had inadvertently concocted a partial truth. Had his betrothed or perhaps his mother—oh, dear; men could be quite irrational when it came to their mamas—been mortified by Laura’s masquerade and insisted he find a way to put a stop to it?

She knew something about what the desire for vengeance could drive a person to do.

Then again, if that had been his game, he might have exposed her to Thornton many times over in the last hour. She might even now have been in the custody of the village magistrate.

Of course, Lord Sterling’s present silence on the matter hardly guaranteed her safety. Her efforts to help innumerable young women had taught her that men generally reserved their most dangerous and debauched behaviors for occasions when there would be no witnesses to their depravity. She certainly must avoid whatever tonic Thornton’s physician might prescribe, anything that would muddle her thoughts or leave her more vulnerable still.

Yet it was difficult to persuade herself that Lord Sterling meant to set upon her the moment they were alone. He certainly had not agreed with Thornton’s vile hint that she would be in no fit state tonight to deny him his husbandly prerogative. He didn’t even seem to like Thornton much. In fact, she could almost believe he had accepted Thornton’s hospitality for her sake alone. Almost as if he had known her destination and intended to help her reach it…

Ridiculous. How could he? No one but Betty had known. Not even poor Miss Godfrey had expected her.

The coach skidded as it turned sharply off the main road and her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the highly polished strip of wood beneath the window as a gurgle of terror squeezed from her throat.

Thornton seemed to find her lingering trauma amusing. “Did you think you were still in that rattletrap stagecoach, Lady Sterling? I assure you my driver better knows how to manage a little mud.”

Lord Sterling said nothing, though his eyes narrowed as they contemplated Lord Thornton for a moment before shifting to her and softening slightly. Under other circumstances she might have called his expression compassionate, though there was still something cool and keen in those blue depths. As though she were a riddle he was trying to solve.

“My dear Laura has never had much fondness for rain,” he said, holding her gaze. “Her mama took ill after a being caught in a storm, and sadly, never recovered.”

An icy shard of fresh panic slid into her chest and lodged itself behind her breastbone. The memory of her mother’s death was painful enough, but how—how?—could this stranger know anything of it? She pressed back against the squabs, placing as much distance between them as possible within the confines of the carriage.

She had built her reputation on the premise that knowledge was power.

Lord Sterling knew entirely too much for comfort.

Thornton murmured something that might have been condolence. “We’re nearly there, now.”

Laura pressed her fingertips to the glass, grateful for an excuse to look out the window, away from Lord Sterling. But a quarter of an hour at least passed before she saw any sign of gatehouse or parkland or lights in the windows of Thornton Hall. Ample time for apprehension to spread and send its tremors into her limbs.

Not nearly enough time for her to plan how best to respond when the coach at last rolled to a stop before a stately Elizabethan manor and Lord Sterling indicated his intention to gather her in his arms again.

Chapter 5

“Ikin mange ahminown.”

Jeremy frowned, trying to sort out the meaning of those sounds, ground out from between clenched jaws. At present, pressed into the corner, spine stiff, she put him in mind of a frightened cat that had backed its way into a crevice and was now spitting and hissing to prevent its rescue. He had hoped she would unbend a bit when Thornton exited the coach, but at present it was more than clear that his own hand was equally likely to get scratched.