. how did you f-find me, m-my lord?” Miss Morland asked as he directed his horse onto the main road that would take them back to Gretna Green.
“As it happens, it was quite by chance,” Hamish admitted. “When I was at the forge in the village, the blacksmith suggested the stables behind the King’s Head might have a spare conveyance available for hire if I didn’t want to wait another two days for him to complete the repairs to your carriage. He offered to send his apprentice over to Springfield, but as I was already out and about, and it was only a short ride . . .” He shrugged. “It just seemed easier to chase it up myself.”
“W-w-well, I’m v-very grateful that you d-did.”
Hamish could well imagine, considering the scene he’d stumbled upon. A near kidnapping. No wonder Miss Morland was still shivering in his arms. The sodden brim of her bonnet—the one he’d purchased for her this morning on a whim—hid her face so he couldn’t read her expression. However, the lass’s stammer had worsened, and he knew from experience that such a thing tended to happen whenever she was particularly nervous or unsettled. As well she might be.
She had some explaining to do.
Miss Morland. Was that the lass’s actual name? More than ever, Hamish was convinced that Lavinia Morland was not who she claimed to be. Her assailant clearly knew her and had called her Livvie, which in Hamish’s mind was usually a diminutive form of Olivia, rather than Lavinia. Of course, he could be wrong. Needless to say, there would be no putting off the conversation they needed to have once they reached Graitney Hall.
* * *
* * *
So, lass, would you care to explain what happened outside the King’s Head?” asked Lord Sleat as soon as the door to Olivia’s sitting room closed behind Daniels and Tilda. After the marquess had taken the footman aside for a quiet word, he’d offered to take Tilda downstairs to Graitney Hall’s kitchen in search of hot chocolate, cake, and the resident cat. “You said you had something to tell me . . .”
He stalked across the carpet, all power and grace. He’d discarded his coat and was wearing only shirtsleeves, a plain wool waistcoat, form-fitting breeches, and his muddy Hessians.
Olivia moved closer to the fire and stirred the logs, hoping to marshal her riotous thoughts into some semblance of order. On the way back from Springfield, and while she’d been changing into her only fresh gown, one of pale lavender wool, her mind was awhirl as she contemplated how Lord Sleat would react when he learned the truth—and in each imagined set of circumstances, not one of them ended well for her.
Now that the moment for her to confess had finally arrived, Olivia found she’d never been more nervous in her entire life.
If the marquess tried to send her back to her uncle and thus into Felix’s clutches . . . She wasn’t able to suppress a violent shudder of fear.
“My lord, might . . . might I have a whisky?” Olivia knew he kept some in his room, and although it was presumptuous of her to ask such a thing, she really needed something to help her calm down.
The marquess frowned, but nevertheless he fulfilled her request. When he joined her at the fireside and passed her a glass, his gaze was filled with concern. “Miss Morland, I might resemble a brutish ogre in a physical sense, but I assure you, I won’t bite your head off.” He drew closer to the fire. The flickering light of the flames danced over his stern but handsome countenance, lending him an otherworldly appearance. “But I do want you to tell me the truth. I sense you are in some kind of trouble, and I cannot help you unless you tell me exactly what it is we are dealing with here.”
What we are dealing with. Olivia liked the sound of that. But would Lord Sleat feel that way once he realized how much of a nuisance she was?
Olivia took a fortifying sip of the whisky, welcoming the fiery warmth that spread over her tongue, down her throat, and then into her belly. “Thank you. I needed that,” she said as she carefully placed her glass on the mantelpiece. “And thank you for your reassurances. However, you might not feel so magnanimous or kindly disposed toward me in a moment.”
Lord Sleat’s mouth kicked into a small grin. “What, are you about