The phaeton was built for speed, and responded so smoothly that it was quite some time before Clarissa, deep in her own thoughts, became aware of their change from sedate trot to swift gallop. Even longer before she became aware that they had left the confines of the park, and even the traffic of the city, and were now traversing open countryside. How long had they been travelling thus? ‘I’m afraid we must turn back, sir, I’m expected at home. I hadn’t realised you intended more than a drive around the park. I’m not dressed for a longer journey.’
‘Not far now, my horses need some exercise. Be patient, and enjoy the scenery.’
Suddenly Clarissa became aware of how foolish her behaviour must seem, alone in an open carriage with a notorious rake. Fleeting thoughts of abduction passed through her mind, to be dismissed summarily. She was being foolish. Kit had no need to take her by force when she had already offered herself so freely. After all, he did not know that she had no intention of fulfilling her promise. And while he was a rake, he was surely no villain. No, her imagination was simply overwrought, what with lack of sleep and too many lurid novels. Clarissa tried to relax and follow Kit’s advice to enjoy their surroundings, but it was a relief none the less when, a short time later, the carriage slowed to a halt as they approached a whitewashed and thatched inn set prettily by a bridge over a lazily flowing river.
The small seed of doubt as to his intentions died. They would partake of some refreshment here and he would return her safely home. He had merely wished to try the paces of his horses, that was all. Well, they had certainly had a good run. How long had they been on the road? She was chilled. The horses being released from the traces by two uniformed ostlers were steaming with sweat. She had no timepiece, but Clarissa was starting to worry, from the darkening sky, about returning home in time for dinner.
‘My lord, I—’
‘Inside, Clarissa, where there is a fire. Come along, you’re cold. I must see to my team first, then we may talk more freely.’ An imperious hand in the small of her back propelled her forward, and she went with him, more reluctant with each step.
‘I had no idea we had been driving for so long. We must turn around quickly, my lord, for my mama will be expecting me.’
A curt nod was his only response. He would brook no discussion in front of the servants. But what, exactly, was in need of discussion? Surely they were just waiting on fresh horses? That was it, of course. Fresh horses. And some warming coffee while they were poled up. With a lighter step, Clarissa preceded Lord Rasenby through the door of the inn, and towards the reassuring warmth of the fire in a small private parlour.
‘I won’t be long.’ A stiff bow, and she was suddenly alone.
But as she stripped off her gloves to heat her chilled hands at the blaze of the fire, Clarissa was beset by doubts. He hadn’t needed to command the parlour. What was it the innkeeper had said when he had welcomed them at the door? Everything is ready, just as you requested, my lord. Well, perhaps he had decided in advance that they would take a drive. No harm in that, was there? And he was obviously well known to the proprietors, so it wasn’t as if he was concerned about his identity becoming known. So the growing fear Clarissa was trying to subdue, that she was being abducted, was ridiculous, wasn’t it?
Of course it was. And here to prove it was the landlady herself, bustling in with a pot of hot steaming coffee and a large jug of foaming ale. She busied herself, putting another log on the fire and fussily adjusting one of the porcelain ornaments on the large mantel. No sign at all of anything untoward.
‘Will that be all, madam? Lord Rasenby said to tell you to take your coffee while it’s hot, he is just making sure his horses are stabled properly. If you require anything else, just ring the bell to summon me.’ At Clarissa’s nod, she bobbed a curtsy and left.
There, seeing to the horses, the woman had said. Making sure the fresh pair were ready for a quick departure. She would be home, if not before dusk, at least before full dark. With a sigh of relief, Clarissa snuggled down on to the settle before the fire, and poured her coffee. The warmth of the flames after the cold outside lulled her body into comfort and her mind into a calmer acceptance of her situation.
It was not until she was pouring her second cup from the pot that she realised Kit had been gone an overlong time. And the doubts awakened again, with renewed force. Nervously, she stood and peered out of the window into the growing gloom. Judging from the light, it must be near six of the clock. They had driven nigh on an hour and a half. It would be well after dinner before she was back. What on earth was he thinking? And where on earth was he? As her worries grew, so Clarissa’s temper also rose.
The object of her ire finally walked back into the room, bringing with him a blast of cold air and the faint smell of the stables. ‘Ah. I see you are a little warmer. An open carriage for such an extended period at this time of year is not ideal. I apologise.’
‘Had I known you intended such a long drive, sir, I would have cautioned you against it. As I have told you twice now, I am expected at home.’
‘Yes, and I heard you the first time. I am not dim-witted, Clarissa, I do understand simple English.’
His bland tone provoked rather than calmed her. ‘Then you will understand the simple fact that we must leave at once and return to London, sir.’ This, through gritted teeth. ‘I would not wish to be at odds with you, but we seem to have rather different interpretations of the phrase a short drive in the park.’
He smiled at this sally, but she received no other response. Kit seemed more intent on the refreshing draught of ale he had poured himself, and the warmth of the fire. His very indifference made her throw caution to the winds. Clarissa stamped her foot in a fair imitation of her sister that very morning, had she been inclined to notice. It did not occur to her, however, so intent was she on gaining Kit’s attention. She really needed to get back home.
‘If you will not rouse yourself from your beer, then I will just have to commandeer a carriage myself.’ She had nowhere near sufficient funds in her purse to do so, but she tried not to think about that obstacle for the moment. Clarissa moved purposefully to the looking glass above the fire in order to adjust the strings of her bonnet.
He moved like a cat. One second he was lolling in a hard wooden chair, drinking from a brimming tankard, the next he was on his feet, standing all too close, his presence dominating her slim form, his face not angry exactly but stern. Forbidding. The full extent of her predicament struck Clarissa forcibly. No one knew where she was or who she was with. She had little money. And this man, this impossibly attractive, intimidating, overpoweringly strong man, was in full command of the situation. Nervously, Clarissa licked her dry lips, and decided to try a different tack.
‘You are teasing me, Kit, I know you are. But really, the joke has gone too far. I must go home now. We have agreed terms. You are happy with my proposal, you said so yourself. You’ll be wanting your dinner soon. And surely your horses will be rested by now. You will no doubt wish to have a think about our adventure too, to spend some time planning it. So we should go now, and make arrangements to meet in a few days. Should we not?’ Her voice faltered, seeing no change on his face, no response at her attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Kit?’
He was looking down at her, scrutinising her closely. There was confusion and fear lurking in her wide-open green eyes. He knew perfectly well what she was thinking, for he had fully intended to frighten her just a little, to let her know that whatever her game was, she wasn’t going to have it all her own way. But he had been unprepared for this feeling of pity, tenderness even, that her fear invoked. With difficulty, Kit resisted the sudden urge to reassure her, to soothe her anxiety. He reminded himself that she was an excellent actress. All the talk of Mama, the show of bravado, even the slight tremble of that full, sensuous bottom lip. Really, Mrs Siddons could not have acted better than this wench. She had no need of tenderness.
Grasping her small determined chin, he moved closer, feeling her light breath on his hand, inhaling that alluring combination of roses and vanilla. His thumb stroked the corner of her mouth, and