And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,109

excellent meal. He glanced up at the inn. At least he hoped it would be decent.

“Quickly,” Henry told him. “And in a private dining room, if you will?”

He’d tell her everything. Beg her to marry him, carry her over the border in the morning, make her his wife and then they could go into hiding until the worst of it blew over.

Not a very noble stance, but utterly sensible, given the Dale and Seldon tendencies to overreact when one of their own defied that line that kept them apart.

Well, it was a line no more for him.

“A private room? Of course, my lord! And a fine supper for you and the lady. Quite in order. Why, Mr. Dishforth ordered up that exactly, just last night,” the innkeeper said. Then the man leaned closer. “And Mr. Dishforth also said your lordship would have no complaints in covering his expenses.”

Henry tried to muster his most withering glare, but it was of no use on such a weathered innkeeper, who rubbed his hands together in glee as he hurried off to get everything prepared.

Following him into the inn, his boots tramping along, Henry knew one thing was for certain. After tonight, he would lay the past to rest and there would be no more of that unreliable, horribly unfeeling creature, Abernathy Dishforth, ever again.

Daphne was halfway down the narrow staircase when a voice in the common room below halted her steps.

“I am seeking word of my cousin—she is traveling toward Gretna Green in a disastrous match. It is imperative I find her.”

Crispin!

Daphne whirled around, scrambling to flee up the stairs, but her path was blocked by the maid who had dressed her hair with such care.

“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed.

“Gar! What is it, miss?” the maid said in her thick northern accent.

“My cousin! He’s come to find me, stop me,” Daphne whispered, even as she pushed her way past the girl and ducked higher up the stairs and out of sight.

“No! He can’t,” the girl exclaimed just as vehemently. “Not when you’ve come so far.”

“Exactly,” Daphne agreed. “I just need one more night.”

“Leave it to me,” the girl said, rushing down the stairs.

Daphne peered down the stairwell, just enough to listen.

“Not one of you has seen her? This is quite possibly the only posting inn that hasn’t,” Crispin was saying with that edge of suspicion that sounded very much like Great-Aunt Damaris’s probing, skeptical tones when she sensed a scandal.

“You there, miss,” Crispin called out as the maid came down the stairs. “Have you seen my cousin, Miss Dale? She’s about your height and has fair features. I think she would have come through here not but an hour or so ago.”

“Oh aye, sir, I’ve seen her,” the girl declared.

There was a stirring in the room, not unlike the tremble in Daphne’s heart. Perhaps the maid had landed at the end of the stairs, seen Crispin’s fine presence and sensed a reward that would compensate for her duplicity.

But how wrong Daphne was.

For hadn’t this been the same girl who’d said every lady deserved their happy ever after?

“Yes, sir, I saw her. We all did. She and the gentleman—they came through here about an hour ago. So in love, it about left me in tears.”

“Love! Bah! That scurrilous Seldon has her deceived.”

“Then whyever was he looking for another way across the border—so as to keep the likes of you from finding them?” Then the girl gasped and flung her hand over her mouth as if she wished she could have stoppered the words.

But it was too late. Crispin leapt upon her lie like a bird after bread crumbs.

“Another route into Scotland?” Daphne could almost hear the starch in Crispin’s neckcloth creak as he straightened to his full height. “What other route?”

“Oh, now you’ve done it, lass,” one of the patrons complained. “Done and given those poor lovers away.”

The girl sniffed loudly. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Too late now,” another complained. “Aye, sir, there’s another route. But it will cost you.”

“Cost me?” Crispin’s outrage was palpable.

“Aye, cost ye. The other lord, he was willing to pay for someone to guide him, if only not to get caught, so if it was worth it to him . . .” The man left off, the room growing still with anticipation to see what would happen next.

“I shan’t be blackmailed,” Crispin declared. “This match is ruinous for the lady, and as gentlemen all, you should be stepping forward to aid me, as you would ask for aid if she were