eyes prick with tears. Andrew would be out of his mind with worry.
‘My name is Jane Lanchester,’ she said as George turned away and then handed her a flask of water he had brought with them. ‘We live at Hillcrest. It is a lovely Queen Anne house not ten miles from the Avonlea estate. My brother is Lord Andrew Lanchester. Blair was my mother’s maiden name.’
George smiled at her, and once again Jane felt that odd pull at her heart. She ought not to feel anything for a man she did not know and was not sure she could trust, yet there was something about him and their situation that made her want to let down her guard.
‘Thank you. I shall try to send word to your brother, tell him not to worry.’
‘Why do you not confide the whole in Andrew?’ Jane asked and rubbed at the back of her neck tiredly. ‘He would be grateful to you for helping me and he might be able to help you find Blake.’
‘I think it more likely he would call the magistrate and have me arrested. In his shoes I should certainly do so. Besides, I still believe you should remain hidden, Miss Lanchester. Should Blake discover who you are and where you live, you would be at risk …’
‘Yes, I know the risk.’ Jane frowned. She bit her lip. ‘I suppose he would kill Andrew as well if he stood in his way. I had not thought of that—it would be my fault for becoming embroiled in this affair. How much damage one might do without intending it.’
‘It is a sobering thought, is it not?’ George looked grave. ‘Perhaps now you begin to understand what compelled me to do something I should not otherwise have contemplated.’
‘Yes, perhaps I do a little,’ Jane agreed. Her heart pounded, for she was very much affected by him in a way she hardly understood. Surely she could not be attracted to a man she ought to despise? She drank some of the water and splashed some on her face. ‘Have we far to go?’
He looked at her in concern and once again her heart raced. ‘You are tired? I have pushed you too hard, but I am concerned that Blake may be looking for you—or us. I think he may suspect me of helping you.’
‘I am sorry. I have caused you a great deal of trouble. I should have stayed out of it, as you told me, and looked for help after they took Mariah.’
‘You thought only to help someone in distress. It was brave of you, Miss Lanchester—but reckless.’
‘Andrew would say exactly the same.’ Jane felt rueful. ‘I know I am at fault. I have always acted first and thought after. My brother has scolded me for it many times. Had you not had to worry about me, you could have been looking for Mariah. You might have found her and rescued her by now.’
‘It is not as easy as that,’ George said. ‘This situation is hardly your fault, Miss Lanchester. I have to locate Blake and then follow him without being seen. My chances of success are slim, because he will be on his guard—but I do know some of the places he likes to visit. He is often at a rather sleazy gambling hall in London. I may look for him there first.’
‘You intend to leave me with your nurse and go to London?’
‘You look alarmed. You should be safe enough with Martha. I cannot stay to protect you if I am to search for Lady Fanshawe.’
‘No, of course not.’
He was right, of course he was right, but she was somehow bereft at the thought of being abandoned with a woman she did not know. For a moment her heart sank, then she thrust the unworthy thought from her mind. She had no need of a man to help her. Had she not made up her mind long ago that she would be independent and live her life as she pleased rather than be beholden to a man, who would inevitably ill use her and break her heart? How foolish she would be to allow her situation to make her weak.
‘Come, we should go on. It is not far now.’
George held out his hand to her. Jane took a step towards him. Her foot slipped on a stone buried in the grass and she stumbled. George caught her and held her to him for a moment. He looked down at her.
‘Are you ill? I have been thoughtless. You were knocked unconscious. You fell and hurt your ankle and we have ridden all day. I do not think another lady of my acquaintance would have put up with so much. Forgive me.’
Jane gazed up into his eyes. For a moment she felt weak and vulnerable, close to the tears she had been suppressing. He hesitated, then bent his head, his lips brushing her brow. The caress comforted her, though she ought to have rejected it. Instead she wanted to cling to him. Resisting the urge, she closed her eyes, fighting her tears, then looked up at him. She felt his arms close about her. He held her next to his body and his lips touched her hair; he stroked the back of her neck with his fingertips, his warmth comforting her. He did nothing to indicate a desire to make love to her; his embrace was one of comfort and reassurance, nothing more. For a moment Jane wished that she might stay in his arms for ever, but then she remembered who she was and why she was with this man and drew back.
‘I am tired, that is all. Do not be concerned for me, sir. It is Mariah we should be anxious for. I shall be well enough when we can rest.’
‘You are as much a victim in this as she,’ George said and swept her up in his arms, hoisting her into the saddle before mounting behind her. His arms went about her, holding her close to him. ‘Lean against me. Another hour or so and you can rest in Martha’s cottage. She will take good care of you.’
‘Thank you,’ Jane whispered, her throat tight. It was ridiculous to feel like weeping. She was so much luckier than Mariah. Instead of criticising and scolding George, she should be thanking him for his care of her. Her own reckless nature had brought her to this pass. Were it not for her gallant knight, she might be dead.
‘What scrape are you in now, sir?’ Martha said as she opened her cottage door to him some two hours later. ‘Good gracious, what is the matter with the young lady?’
‘She has fainted, I think,’ George replied. ‘She was very tired and she has suffered a terrible ordeal, Martha. Please take us in, for I fear she can go no farther this night.’
‘As if I would turn you down, sir.’ Martha opened the door wide. ‘She can sleep in my bed tonight. I put fresh sheets on it this very day. You carry her up and I’ll tend to her—and then you can tell me what this is all about.’
‘Thank you. I shall be for ever in your debt, Martha dearest.’
‘Stop that nonsense,’ the old lady muttered. ‘Up those stairs with you. I’ll bring what I need and see to her. The poor girl looks as if she has slept in her clothes for a week.’
‘Not quite that long,’ George said ruefully. ‘But it is not surprising that she looks exhausted, as you will understand when I tell you.’
He carried Jane up to the small bedchamber at the top of the stairs. The ceilings were low and he had to bend his head to enter through the door. The bedroom window was tiny with panes of thick grey glass and the room was sparsely furnished with just the bed, a chest of drawers and a wooden chair. However, there was a sweet, fresh smell and the sheets on the bed were spotless, as white as could be.
He pulled back the covers and deposited Jane carefully on the sheet, placing pillows so that her head rested comfortably. Hovering, he watched anxiously for her to open her eyes but they remained shut, and when he touched her forehead it felt hot.
‘I
