merely curious, but she suspected he’d already guessed the answer. ‘I’m not trained for anything, if you must know. A governess, I suppose. I am reasonably well educated.’
He looked so dubious she added defensively, ‘Well, I am. You needn’t make a face.’
‘I’m not doubting your education, Miss Thomas. But somehow you don’t seem to realise that few mothers would eagerly welcome someone like you into their homes.’
She flushed with anger. ‘I don’t know what you mean by that.’
‘There’s no need to get upset. All I mean is that women like their children’s governesses to be stout and homely. Or skinny and homely. But…homely is important, I’m afraid.’His voice dropped an octave. ‘You’re…what I mean to say is you’re not homely. The very opposite, in fact. It’s a compliment.’
Her heart was beating like a hammer. She forced herself not to look at him and fixed her sights on a sleeping dog at the end of the road. But she knew he was looking at her. She could feel his gaze on the side of her face.
So she started to babble. ‘I…I might also work in a shop. Or I…might take in sewing. I could do any—’
‘Miss Thomas?’
‘Yes?’
‘I have no doubt you’ll be successful in whatever you choose to do, but it might take a while.And you still haven’t sold your necklace, so you haven’t any money to tide you over. Just accept my offer, please. Don’t think of it as charity, since I am getting something in return.’
Isabelle said nothing. She didn’t want to take his money—she really didn’t. But she also didn’t know why it mattered, since she’d planned to sell her necklace anyway. And the money he offered would pay for her lodgings for several months. It would feed her. It might even cover some of her debt…
But taking money from him was different. It was more shaming. No matter what he said, it was charity.
In the end, though, necessity won out over pride, although she still couldn’t meet his gaze. ‘If you truly wish to buy it, then I won’t argue. But I insist you keep it. I…I don’t need your gift.’
He nodded, and they walked on in uncomfortable silence.
After another minute, they reached the crowded street where she’d first encountered him.
‘My carriage is just over there.’
She looked in the direction he indicated. His carriage had pulled to the side in order not to obstruct traffic; his driver, who’d been arguing energetically when she’d last seen him, now glared sullenly at the greengrocer, who’d still not moved his cart.
‘Your carriage?’ she asked.
He was regarding the vehicle with mild displeasure, but he looked back at her to answer the question. ‘Yes—you’re coming to my house, remember?’
Ride in his carriage with him? It was far too intimate. She couldn’t do it. ‘Perhaps I might hire a hack?’
‘Don’t be silly. It could be an hour before you see a hack around here.’
‘I could walk, then.’
‘You expect me to trust you with my sixpence? How do I know you won’t abscond with it?’
She frowned at him. ‘You can have your sixpence back.’
He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Oh, for the…’ He managed to catch himself before emitting an oath. ‘You’re being silly. I’ll hire a hack for myself, so you won’t be alone with me, if that’s what’s stopping you. You can have my carriage to yourself.’
No. ‘As you pointed out, hacks rarely come to these parts. I cannot allow you to inconvenience—’
‘It is not inconvenient,’ he said tightly, patently already both annoyed and inconvenienced. ‘You are not walking, but if you propose to stand here and debate it all day then I am willing to oblige you.’
She didn’t want to debate all day, nor did she want to walk. Her stomach rumbled and her feet hurt. She looked away, wishing she hadn’t argued with him. It wasn’t proper for her to ride in his carriage, alone or otherwise, but she’d abandoned propriety many months ago. She was in no position to be so fastidious.
‘You will at least let me pay your fare.’
‘No, I won’t,’ he said irritably, his gentleman’s honour obviously insulted that she would offer.
She blushed again, embarrassed by her gaucheness. But she had to acknowledge his generosity somehow.
‘I really am grateful for your kindness. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed impolite. What I mean to say is, well, thank you, my lord.’
‘You don’t have to be so formal.’
But she did. Formality was all that was keeping her from melting on the spot. His eyes had warmed with her apology, and his tone had dropped subtly: deeper, richer, entreating. She couldn’t look away, and in the heavy silence, he reached out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. She found herself staring at his lips. She thought he was going to kiss her, and stopping him was far from her mind. He was so close, and all he’d have to do was tilt his head…
‘Do you know what I think?’
‘What?’ she asked, feeling rather mesmerised.
‘I think you need more help than you’ll admit.’
She blinked and looked away, realising that any kissing was merely the product of her overheated imagination.
Will glanced in the direction of his carriage, where the argument had recommenced. ‘You’d better wait here while I sort this out. I don’t trust McGrath to mind his tongue when he’s riled. And pay attention this time.’
He gave her a stern look and deposited the bag at her feet before walking purposely towards the carriage, just on the other side of the road. She watched him go, feeling rather dizzy. That morning she’d been penniless, friendless and scared. Through sheer happenstance she now had the promise of money and a most unlikely champion.
She allowed herself to look at him, safe in the knowledge that for the moment he wasn’t paying attention to her. She liked the way his hair fell over his temples as he lowered his head to listen to the greengrocer. After a few seconds, he pushed it back, looking frustrated. He seemed—quite valiantly, she thought—to be holding his temper in check. He started patting his pockets, and she assumed the man was demanding money for his damaged potatoes. She couldn’t suppress her smile. Pity she’d taken his last sixpence, but she was certain he’d think of something. What with all that credit. There’d be a small parade of beggars, all with hands held out, following him home before the day was through.
She looked at the sky, watching the clouds drift past and wondering how late it was. She’d been enjoying herself, in an odd sort of way, and she suspected more time had passed than she was aware of.
Mrs William Stanton. She rather liked the sound of that. No, no—Isabelle,
