The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes (London Highwaymen, #2)(59)

She felt herself flush. She was not prone to blushing and it was terribly annoying that Rob had this effect on her. “Obviously I have to ask or I wouldn’t have done.”

“I wish I could stay near you. I wish I could eat at your table and sleep in your bed, or you in mine. I wish there were even a half measure that I could think of. I suppose I could dress in my best coat and call on you and perhaps drink tea in your parlor once a fortnight.”

The image this conjured was too appalling for her to accept: Rob, stiff and uncomfortable in the Clare House morning room, making polite conversation, never once picking anybody’s pocket, never kissing her the way he had last night, never again using that low soft voice that sounded like it was all for her. “I don’t want you to drink tea in my parlor once a fortnight!”

“Well, darling, that’s the best we can do.”

Marian thought that two intelligent, resourceful, unscrupulous people could do a sight better than that if they put their minds to it. She didn’t know whether to be pleased that Rob was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to see as much of her as he wanted, or severely annoyed that he couldn’t see his way to solving the problem. “May the devil take your best and you with it.”

The cat, evidently enjoying the quarrel and deciding to join in, began howling. “Oh, you can be quiet until you have something useful to say,” Marian scolded the beast, and for some perverse reason known only to the cat, he promptly went silent.

Rob started laughing. “I really do think that animal believes he’s your familiar.”

“Maybe he is my familiar and you’ve just insulted him.”

“I beg your pardon,” Rob said to the cat.

When they reached the coaching inn in Canterbury, Marian retired to a seat by the fire, the cat bundled in her cloak, while Rob set about hiring a chaise. It was a pleasure to watch him. It was always a pleasure to watch someone do what they were good at, whether they were a blacksmith or a painter or a man who enjoyed charming ostlers and innkeepers. Marian felt quite secure in the knowledge that they would have a very comfortable chaise, good horses, and competent postilions.

She let herself acknowledge that she also enjoyed looking at Rob simply for the sake of looking at him. He cut a dashing figure in his boots and cape. He’d probably cut a dashing figure in just about anything, but he had a way of making that cape swish about his calves that she found strangely beguiling.

As if he knew he was being watched, he threw a look over his shoulder at her and she felt caught out, as if she had been doing something far more shameful than only looking at him. But then he cast a quick, appraising look at her, which transformed what she had done into something they were doing together and carried with it a promise of more to come.

They had tonight, and then tomorrow night, unless the roads were far better than she had any right to expect. After that they’d be in London and effectively separated. Of course, these next two nights would be nothing like the nights they had spent at inns on the way to Little Hinton. She was traveling under her own name—well, as Marian Hayes—and he under his and they would take separate rooms. It was all disconcertingly aboveboard.

“It’s all set,” Rob said, now standing beside her, one hand resting on the back of her chair in a manner so casually proprietary that Marian felt her face heat.

She got to her feet and shook out her skirts, readjusted the cat in her arms, and proceeded outside to their waiting chaise.

The carriage that had taken them from Little Hinton into Canterbury had been large and old-fashioned, but this light, fast, two-wheeled chaise was very similar to the one the duke had owned, but stripped of all ornament and embellishment. When she stepped in, she realized it was similar on the inside as well. It would seat only two with any comfort, so after handing her into the carriage, Rob sat precisely where the duke had, so near her that their legs touched.

She tried to think of the differences: the duke’s carriage was equipped with velvet cushions and decorated with rather more gilt than one might think appropriate for an object that spent most of its time encrusted in mud. The principal difference was that in this carriage, the duke was not sitting beside her, calmly threatening her friends and family. Instead Rob was here, alive and well, and that was because in the other carriage Marian had seen what the duke was about to do—she had seen his hand move for the case that held the second pistol, she had seen the frozen look on Percy’s face, and she had done the only thing she could think of doing.

She supposed nobody would ever use that other carriage again. That much blood would never wash out.

“Marian!” Rob said, low and urgent. Marian realized he was holding one of her hands. The carriage was already moving, rolling down the frozen London road.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. And since that was manifestly not the case, she went on. “This carriage is similar to the duke’s carriage and I was startled by the resemblance, but I’ll be well in a moment.”

“I’ll arrange for another one at the next inn.”

“Please don’t. I expect all post chaises are similar enough. And it really was just the initial shock. I’m already feeling better.” That was true; her heart had calmed down and she no longer expected to see blood all over her.

He gave her a narrow look, then nodded his head.

As it was apparent that unless she did something about it, he was going to spend the rest of the journey watching her for signs of imminent mental collapse, she decided to take action. “I find myself filled with curiosity about the business of robbery,” she said. She tilted her body toward him, angling herself on the seat, so she kept him fully in sight and would not forget that she was in this carriage with this man. “What did you mean when you said that after a robbery, you customarily disposed of your takings? I was under the impression that you used a fence.”