The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(12)

God’s teeth! Without more light, he’d never get her to Town in time. If only he was familiar with this road he could travel faster.

Thinking back to yesterday’s journey, he realized that the scoundrels had taken several back roads which had the effect of avoiding the larger posting inns. Clearly he had somehow missed one and got lost. Now, what the devil was he going to do?

They passed a road sign to a village only a mile from the estate where his mother lived. How had he not realized how close he was to Hillstone Manor? Well, that settled his problem. He’d take Lady Charlotte to his mother. After which, Con would continue his journey to Town.

And have Mama planning my wedding.

Perdition! That is exactly what his mother would do. She’d been after him for the past few years to take a wife.

The sky was becoming lighter. Even if he did take Lady Charlotte to Hillstone, they would not arrive for another hour or two at the earliest.

“No,” she said to the basket as she closed the lid.

“The kitten?”

“Yes.” She smiled.

He looked at Lady Charlotte for a moment. Her eyes the color of the now lightened sky grew wide, and her lush rose lips formed a perfect O.

“I have never seen such green eyes.”

He had heard the same thing all his life, but coming from her it seemed . . . special. “My father’s family is littered with eyes this color.”

Pulling her full lower lip between her teeth, she suddenly lapsed into thought. A few moments later, she said, “Is it proper for you to know my name when I do not know yours?” Her cheeks flushed with color. “I mean, I know we should be properly introduced, but”—she held her palms up and glanced around—“I do not see anyone who could perform the duty.”

He grinned. “Kenilworth, at your service, my lady.”

“Kenilworth?” Her lovely smile was suddenly replaced by a scowl, and her light tone became as cold as his ice house in the dead of winter. “You are the Marquis of Kenilworth?”

“I am indeed.” Con wondered what he had done to deserve such a negative reaction.

A golden blond curl slipped loose, and she tucked it back under the bonnet, muttering something about courtesans and poor women. Something he was not going to ask her to repeat.

But when had she seen him? The only public place he’d been to recently was . . . Damnation. The theater. That hair.

How could he have forgotten? She was the young lady in Worthington’s box who had been glaring at him when he had attended with Aimée and one of her friends. The lights in the Worthington box had been raised, as most were. Yet, Con had lowered the lights in his box because his mistress did not like to call attention to herself. Her friend, however, had practically hung over the rail, gathering all the notice she could. The woman had even had the temerity to ask to be escorted to Worthington’s box because the Duke of Rothwell—now married to another of Worthington’s sisters—was there.

Yet, surely Lady Charlotte did not know . . . Young, unmarried, gently born ladies did not know of mistresses. On the other hand, she knew of Miss Betsy and had mentioned courtesans—but even if she had been told, why would she care? It was no bread and butter of Lady Charlotte’s if he had a mistress. Most men did.

“I appreciate you going to such lengths to rescue me,” Lady Charlotte said in a tight voice. “However, I would prefer that we find an inn where I may take the mail coach back to Town.”

The devil she would. Worthington would kill him if Con put his sister on a common stage. He would take her home. She was, after all, wearing a carriage gown. It was a bit wrinkled, but no one would know that they had not been out for an early ride. As long as he got her back without anyone seeing them before they reached the Park, all would be well.

Rot. He, of all people, knew better than to believe such a faradiddle. If anyone saw them he was done for.

Hours had passed since they had left the inn. The sun was rising in the sky more quickly with each minute. If only he had not got misdirected they could have been in Town long before now.

They entered what appeared to be a market town. Shopkeepers were sweeping their walks, and women, old and young, dashed about with large baskets hanging on their arms. Fortunately, he did not see any carriages or people he recognized, and drove straight through. So far, so good.

“Why did you not stop there?”

“It is not serviced by a mail coach,” he lied. No doubt she would jump out of his carriage if she knew it was most likely a primary stop. Market towns were.

“Oh.” She lapsed into a tense silence again.

A purring sound emanated from the basket. At least the cat was having a good time.





Chapter Five


A half hour later, the only thing about Con’s situation that had improved was that he had seen another sign to the market town near his mother’s estate. At least now he knew where he was. Holding his breath as they passed through a village, he prayed no one would notice them.

Since learning his name, Lady Charlotte had moved as far away as possible from him—which was not that far considering her skirts still brushed his thigh—and refused to even glance in his direction. “Please halt the carriage.”

Without thinking Con pulled the horses up. Before he could ask what she needed or grab her arm, the woman had climbed down from the phaeton and started off down the road toward the village.