turned to glance at her with an elevated eyebrow, wordlessly requesting more information about her plans.
Again Fiona was tempted to tell him and that was odd for she was normally an extremely private person. In one way she found this gentleman’s virility daunting, yet his confident, capable manner was soothing too. The dark, romantic atmosphere of flame-daubed shrubbery and the sound and scent of spitting kindling was having a peculiar effect on her, she realised. She felt enchanted, bound to this good-looking stranger’s side, and willing to confess her life’s secrets until he chose to draw a halt to their conversation.
‘I’m on my way to take up a position as a children’s governess,’ Fiona said.
‘You’re brave, then, as well as...foolish...’ At the last moment Luke had substituted something truthful yet unflattering for the compliment that had almost rolled off his tongue. He’d astonished himself by being uncharacteristically familiar with a genteel woman he barely knew. Fiona Chapman wasn’t beautiful... She wasn’t even conventionally pretty despite the sweet halo of fawn curls fluffing about her heart-shaped face as the glow of the fire dried her off. Earlier, when her hair had been sleek with rain Luke had thought her a brunette and her features, though small and regular, were nothing much out of the ordinary. Yet something about her was undeniably attractive to him...and he’d almost told her so.
The spell had been broken; Fiona shot to her feet from her makeshift stool, wondering if he was being sarcastic. She was sure he’d been on the point of calling her beautiful and she knew she was nothing of the sort. Fiona came to the depressing conclusion that Mr Wolfson, despite his worthy practical skills, had a shallow side and it was hardly the time or place for insincere flattery.
‘Foolish?’ she echoed coolly, hoping to convey she wasn’t impressed and wasn’t playing his game. ‘Pray, why do you think that of me, sir, when we barely know one another?’ No doubt he believed she’d be better served seeking a husband to care for than children to tutor.
‘You’re travelling alone, aren’t you?’
‘I am,’ Fiona crisply owned up.
‘Then I’ll amend what I said and call you extremely foolish. These are dangerous roads stalked by violent criminals, as I’m sure your coachman or Mr Jackson must have told you by now.’
‘Even could I afford her, how might a lady’s maid protect me from such as highwaymen?’ Fiona snapped. ‘A female dependant would be a burden, not a comfort, to me for I would fret constantly for her safety as well as my own.’ Fiona spun away, ready to march off after her parting shot. She’d taken just two steps when hard fingers clamped on her wrist, arresting her.
‘And who will you burden with your safety, Miss Chapman? A middle-aged coachman, or a youth unable to handle a gun correctly? A farmer who has his wife to attend to? Me...?’
Fiona twisted her arm free, glaring at him with tawny eyes that held a feral spark. ‘I expect no one to look after me, sir. Least of all you. I can care for myself.’
‘Can you indeed?’
The murmured words held a soft mockery that brought high spots of angry colour to Fiona’s cheekbones. ‘Yes...I can,’ she vowed sturdily.
He gave a slow nod, accepting what she’d said, but Fiona knew he was still laughing at her even if he had dipped his head to prevent her seeing the expression beneath his long black lashes.
‘Are you going to castigate the Beresford ladies for travelling without a servant?’ Fiona demanded. ‘Or is it just me you wish to condemn as a nuisance for having the temerity to do so?’
‘Just you...’
‘And why is that?’
‘You are younger and more comely than the other ladies, as I’m sure you’re aware. If your coach were held up, you would draw the attention of felons who might want to take more than just material valuables from the women they rob.’
That took the wind out of Fiona’s sails and put a deeper blush in her cheeks. She swallowed, said hoarsely, ‘You seem to know a worrying amount about it, Mr Wolfson.’
Luke’s mouth quirked. ‘Over the years I’ve learned lots of things.’
‘I’m sure...and have you now learned not to stop and help stranded travellers, lest they irritate you?’
‘I confess I was tempted to keep going.’
Fiona found that admission rather shocking, given that he’d helped enormously, keeping them safe and sound by lighting a fire and drying their clothes. ‘It’s good to know that your conscience got the better of you in the end, sir,’ she said faintly.
Fiona backed off a step, then swung about. A moment later she realised she still had on his coat. Whipping it from her shoulders, she handed it over with a stilted ‘Thank you, I’ve no further need of it.’
This time he let her go and Fiona walked swiftly to where the others were congregated, discussing animatedly how long Toby had been away and when they might expect his return. It was obvious to Fiona that Mr and Mrs Jackson had worked themselves up into quite a tizzy about the calamity, blaming the coachman for all their ills.
As though in answer to Mrs Jackson’s prayer—chanted between coughing fits—the sound of hooves and rattling wheels was heard.
Bert leapt up from where he’d been squatting by the fireside. He picked up the blunderbuss and looked fearfully in Luke’s direction for a signal as to how to proceed.
Luke had already removed a pair of duck-foot pistols from his saddlebag and his fists were curled about the weapons in the pockets of the leather coat he’d donned.
A moment later Bert was grinning and rushing towards the road as he recognised his uncle’s voice booming out his name.
‘I’ll bid you farewell now your driver is back,’ Luke interjected when there was a break in the frantic conversation batting between Toby Williams and an irate Peter Jackson.
‘Our gratitude goes with you, sir,’ Peter announced. ‘You’ve done us all a great service.’ He held out his hand and vigorously pumped Luke’s fingers. ‘This fellow has been a godsend in your absence,’ he told Toby Williams accusingly.
‘I take it you’ll overnight at the Fallow Buck?’ Luke addressed the remark to the driver.
Toby Williams gave a nod, ignoring the glare he got from Mr Jackson. ‘I must thank you, too, for your assistance, Mr Wolfson.’ He held out his hand.
Having shaken it Luke bowed to the Beresford sisters, who fluttered about him and offered him their fingers to hold. Mrs Jackson went so far as to give him a motherly pat on the cheek to display her appreciation.
Then he turned to Fiona. ‘Miss Chapman...’ He gave a slight bow and received a dip of the head in return.
‘I hope you reach your destination safely,’ he said quietly.
‘And I return you that wish, sir,’ Fiona replied.
‘The name of the family who has employed you is...?’
Fiona no longer felt swayed to tell him
