sharp wave of desire shot through Luke, bringing him to his senses more surely than any words. He laughed deep in his throat—it was like him to want the unobtainable. Luke had met with little resistance in his adult life; the ladies were usually more than willing to share his bed—or even entice him into the summerhouse. It was ironic that the first one to evoke such a strong response in him for an age had placed herself out of reach.
Roxanne had made it clear she would not be his mistress and in all honour he could not use his charm to persuade her after all she had done. However, it would not suit him if she were to run away. He might never see her again, and that thought was sufficient to stave off both the pain and the faintness. An ironic smile settled over his lips. She had already shown herself compassionate; perhaps the best way to keep her with him was to plead his need of a nurse or helper to see him home.
‘Hold me tighter,’ he said. ‘The pain makes me faint. I beg you, do not desert me, Miss Roxanne. In this state I am helpless and at the mercy of unscrupulous rogues—men who would see me dead as soon as look at me.’
‘You have enemies?’
‘An enemy,’ Luke improvised. ‘You accused me of riding too hard, but I was trying to escape from him when the fox startled my horse.’
He justified his lie to himself. His enemy was the bitter anger that had been festering inside him since the interview with his grandfather. The Earl of Hartingdon’s unfair accusations and his outrageous demands had smouldered in his brain, making him careless.
‘Will you be safe when you reach London?’
‘Yes.’ Luke waited, holding his breath. ‘Once I am home I shall be perfectly safe, but I need help lest I lose consciousness and lie ill by the wayside.’
‘It is true that not everyone would help if you became ill of a fever. I know that men like Black Bob might take advantage and rob you.’ Roxanne seemed to hesitate, then, ‘Very well, I shall not abandon you. I will see that a doctor is fetched, and, if you are ill, stay with you until you are home. I will nurse you and care for you should you need it. However, you must give me your word not to take advantage, sir.’
‘You have my word as a gentleman,’ Luke said. ‘I am Luke Clarendon, a man of independent means and of good family. You may trust me, Miss Roxanne. Watch over me until I am fit again. I shall reward you by taking you to London—and I will introduce you to the manager of a theatre.’
‘Very well, it is a bargain,’ Roxanne said and her arms clung comfortingly to him once more.
Luke smiled. He did not think she would break her word for she might have done so in the woods. If he could delay their journey for a few days, she might come to like him—and once they were in London, he would find a way of keeping her with him.
The inn they came to a little later was a small posting inn, not one of those Luke had frequented in the past, but decent in appearance; its yard was swept clean and the groom who came running to help respectful and eager to serve.
‘Mr Clarendon has had a fall from his horse,’ Roxanne said and slid down from the saddle unaided. ‘He cannot walk without assistance. We need a room for him and one for me—and a doctor must be called at once, for his ankle is hurt and he is in great pain.’
Luke moaned as he slid down from the horse and his injured leg jarred. The action had caused the pain to intensify and he swayed as the faintness swirled in his head. Roxanne and the groom rushed to his aid, managing to save him from a further fall. The groom shouted for help and another two came running.
‘Ned, take the gentleman’s horse—Jeremiah, help me and then fetch the doctor. Mr Clarendon is in pain with his ankle.’
The two grooms supported Luke towards the inn, which was a modest building, with whitewashed walls, a thatched roof and small leaded windows. Luke glanced over his shoulder and drew a sigh of relief as he saw Roxanne was following with her bundles. His whole leg was throbbing now and he felt very faint. Indeed, he might have fallen had the grooms supporting him not been strong men.
He was supported into the inn. A large portly man came to greet them, his knowing eyes going over both Luke and then Roxanne.
‘Would you be needing a room for you and the—lady, sir?’
‘We need two rooms,’ Roxanne said. ‘Mr Clarendon has hurt his ankle. I think there may be a small break. One of your grooms has gone for the doctor. However, I shall be nursing Mr Clarendon until we leave.’
‘And who might you be, miss?’ The landlord’s brows met in a frown.
‘I am Mr Clarendon’s new governess,’ Roxanne said in a clear firm tone. ‘He has employed me to teach his nephew. My horse was lost in the woods; it ran off and we could not waste time looking for her. My name is Miss Roxanne Peters.’
Luke glanced at her, resisting a grin. It appeared that she could spin a tale as easily as he. The landlord looked uncertain whether to believe her, but was galvanised into action by a moan of pain from Luke.
‘Take the gentleman up to the best chamber,’ he commanded his minions. ‘The governess can have the smaller room two doors down.’
‘Thank you, landlord,’ Luke said and glanced back at Roxanne. ‘Follow us up, Miss Peters. I shall want you in attendance when the doctor arrives.’
‘I shall be with you in a moment, sir.’
The landlord had gone before them. He gestured at the room that was to be Roxanne’s, leaving her to make her own way while continuing further down the passage.
Roxanne went inside the small room. There was a narrow iron bedstead with a white counterpane, blue curtains at the window and a small chest of drawers. To a girl who had been used to living in a caravan it was perfectly adequate. Roxanne dumped her bundles on the floor, took the key from the inside of the door and locked it as she went out, pocketing it safely. Her possessions were not valuable, but they were all she had and she could not afford to lose them—nor did she wish the landlord to go poking his nose into her things.
Walking quickly to the room where she had seen them take her employer—she had decided that the best way to go on was to act the part of an upper-class servant—Roxanne entered and saw that the landlord was standing by the bed. Both the grooms had gone.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I can manage him now.’
The landlord turned, his eyes narrowed and not exactly friendly. Roxanne felt a prickling at her nape. Mr Clarendon seemed barely conscious. She had a feeling that had she not been here to protect him, he might well have been robbed of his possessions. Perhaps she was wronging the landlord, but she was not sure he was honest.
‘Right. I’ll send the doctor up when he gets here.’ He looked at her hard. ‘I’ll be wanting five shillings a night for this room, two for yours—food and the doctor extra.’
‘Yes, of course. You will be paid. Mr Clarendon is a respectable man and we should not dream of running off without paying you.’
‘You better hadn’t. Jake Hardcastle never forgets a face—and I reckon I’ve seen yours before, but I can’t recall where. You weren’t
