Reprobate Lord, Runaway Lady. Isabelle Goddard

had surfaced despite her effort to control them. There was an awkward silence. The painkilling draught was already having its effects and Gareth lay dozing. She was about to tiptoe out of the room, when his voice stopped her in her tracks.

      ‘I should say thank-you.’

      ‘There’s no need,’ she said quickly.

      ‘You could have taken your revenge by leaving me to my fate.’

      ‘I am not dishonest,’ she said squarely, ‘and neither am I heartless. You’d suffered a misfortune and needed help. I would have done the same for anyone.’

      ‘You could have told them here of the accident and then gone on your way. You need not have stayed.’

      His smile had vanished and his voice was almost brusque. It was as if he resented her help, resented being put in a situation where he was beholden.

      ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be staying long,’ she said in a cool voice, ‘just tonight and then I’ll be gone.’

      ‘Where will you sleep? This seems to be the only spare room.’

      ‘I’m to share a chamber with Betsy—the kitchen maid.’

      ‘Good,’ he said mysteriously.

      She couldn’t see anything good about it. She’d never shared a bedroom in her life and a kitchen maid would not have been her chosen companion. A more worldly-wise Gareth was satisfied. If she were indeed the innocent young woman she claimed to be, then Betsy’s chaperonage would be invaluable.

      ‘No doubt I’ll see you in the morning before you leave?’ His tone was indifferent; it was clear that he was dismissing her and preferred to be alone.

      ‘If you wish,’ she replied distantly.

      He closed his eyes in weariness, looking so ill and worn that she instantly regretted her coldness. She would have to leave on the morrow as she’d promised, but a small inner voice was urging her to stay and make sure that he recovered fully. The thought was dismissed even as it occurred. It was impossible to remain at the inn; she’d spent the entire day evading his unwelcome attentions, so what on earth would he think if she continued by his bedside?

       Chapter Four

      She stirred restlessly as the bedroom door shut. There was a thin streak of daylight showing between the badly hung curtain and the window sill, but otherwise the attic room remained dark. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to read the battered clock face on the table beside her and saw that it was only five-thirty. She must have been woken by the maid, leaving for her unenviable duties downstairs. She supposed she ought to rise herself and be on the road to Wroxall as early as possible. There’d be no way of getting to the town at this time of day other than by walking and it would take many hours. She’d have to beg a strong pair of shoes from Betsy.

      She tried to work out what time she would reach Wroxhall and if it would be possible to board a coach that afternoon for Bath. It might be that mail coaches also stopped in the town. They were much faster than the lumbering stage and would get her to Bath before nightfall. But the cost of a ticket was also much higher and her remaining funds were modest. She might even miss whatever coaches were passing through the town and be forced to spend a night there. That was something she dared not contemplate.

      She’d embarked on this adventure nervous, but confident, that she would succeed in reaching her grandmother within hours. Complications such as Gareth Wendover had never entered her head. And he was a complication. By any measure he’d treated her callously and yet she felt a strong thread connecting them, a thread she was finding difficult to break. But there was no doubt he’d brought added danger into her life and she was well advised to be leaving him. Between them, the landlord and the doctor would do all that was necessary to guarantee his well-being; such a vigorous man would not be laid low for long. And if she left the inn this early in the morning, she could forgo a farewell visit. It would be unmannerly, but much easier to walk out of the door right now. If she saw him again, she might be tempted to stay. Her thoughts went round and round in circles until her tired brain gave up the struggle and she once more slept.

      ‘Miss Wendover, can you hear me?’ The landlord’s voice penetrated her slumbers. It had a note of urgency and she wondered for an instant who he was calling and why, when she realised it must be herself. She was the mysterious Miss Wendover!

      ‘Miss Wendover, can you come quickly, please?’

      She hurried out of bed and hastily donned her travelling clothes from yesterday. At the door Mr Skinner looked apologetic, but very worried.

      ‘Sorry to wake you betimes, miss, but Mr Wendover do seem bad. He’s feverish for sure and don’t respond. Will and me have tried to give him the doctor’s medicine, but he won’t let us near.’

      She forgot her resolution to leave the inn as soon as possible and ran down the stairs to Gareth’s bedroom. The scene before her struck her with dismay. A smoky candle still spluttered on the bedside table, but the curtains remained drawn. In the half-light she could see the bedcovers in disarray, half of them trailing on the floor and the other half heaped untidily on the bed. As for the patient, he was tossing and turning constantly, unable to get comfortable, first throwing off the sheets and then grabbing at them with hot dry hands while all the time muttering incoherently. She went forwards to the bed and laid her hand fleetingly on his forehead. It was burning to the touch and his eyes, glancing unrecognisingly at her, were blurred with fever.