Page 29 of The Scoundrel and the Debutante
“She’s delicate,” he said, almost sputtering the word. Miss Cabot did not strike him as the least bit delicate.
“O’Grady. Lives down the road,” the beard said. “He take them on that the post be done with.”
As Roan was working out what those words put together in that sequence were supposed to mean, the door opened behind him. The old men’s eyes slid to the door.
“The missus,” the caterpillars announced.
“Pardon?” Miss Cabot asked. “Good afternoon, sirs.” She stepped up beside Roan and smiled at him. “Any luck?”
“Yes.”He glanced sidelong at the two gentlemen and slipped his arm around her waist. Her gaze dropped to his hand. “I think you’d be more comfortable outside—”
“Oh, I’m quite all right,” she said brightly, and pushed his arm from her waist. “So you found us a horse!”
“It would seem Mr. O’Grady down the road might have a horse or two to spare.”
“Wife ought to wait here. It’s a ways,” said the caterpillars.
“Thewife—” Miss Cabot started, but Roan quickly interjected.
“Thank you!” he said loudly, and this time, he grabbed her and held firmly. “North, you said?” he asked even louder as he pulled Miss Cabot closer to him, into his side, and twisted her shoulders about so that her face was pushed into his chest as he turned her toward the door.
“Aye, north,” one of the men said.
Roan opened the door and pushed Miss Cabot out before him.
Outside the post house, she whirled around. Her hands went to her waist, and she glared at Roan. “You told them I was yourwife?”
“I toldyouto wait outside.”
“I did wait outside! But then I wondered why I ought! How long does it take to ask after a horse, I ask you? Why did you tell them such a thing?” she asked, and batted at his arm like a kitten. “As if my situation isn’t desperate enough, you would say that?”
“I didn’t think it would do to announce that I was traveling with a young woman who was not my wife or my sister and, furthermore, someone I scarcely know.”
“Oh,” she said, the fire leaking out of her.
“Shall we go and find this O’Grady fellow, then?” he asked curtly, and dipped down to gather their bags. He walked on with them, not looking back.
A moment later, Miss Cabot appeared at his side, shuffling along in her unsuitable shoes.
“Where is this Mr. O’Grady?” she asked crossly after a half hour of walking north on the road.
“I’m not entirely certain.”
They walked in silence. Every so often, Miss Cabot would sigh. She pulled her bonnet up on her head once more, which Roan didn’t care for—he liked looking at her.
After some time, she whimpered a little. “I can’t...that is, I don’t know if I—”
“There,” Roan said, pointing. He could see a meadow ahead, and in it five horses grazed. “That must be it.”
That news prompted her to quicken her pace, and she hobbled along at an impressive clip.
The meadow had been fenced with rocks, where Miss Cabot promptly sat, removed her shoes and sighed.
“Now the challenge will be to locate the man who has pastured these horses,” Roan said. “He can’t be far.” He glanced down at his charge. “Can I trust you to remain here, on this fence, while I have a look about?”
“Yes,” she said, her gaze on her feet.
Roan looked at her feet, too. Her stockings were damp with the fluid of her blisters. He squatted down beside her and took one foot in his hand.
