Page 23 of The Major's Mistake
“If you please, get in and I shall take you home,” he said.
She kept going. “Thank you but I prefer to walk.”
Julian was forced to drive forward. “Let us not brangle in public,” he said sharply. With a nod of his head, he indicated a group of laborers in a nearby field who had stopped their work to observe what was going on. “If I am to visit Justin without creating gossip, it must be known that Sophia is my aunt,” he added. “It would also help if we are seen to be on cordial terms.”
Miranda could not argue with the sense of his logic. Her mouth thinned in an obstinate line, but she came over to the phaeton.
“Pray, don’t bother,” she snapped as he started to dismount to assist her. She climbed up beside him, taking a place as far from his person as the seat allowed.
He gave a flick of the reins and the pair broke into a easy trot.
Rigid with wounded pride, Miranda turned slightly so as to stare out at the passing countryside. No doubt he was enjoying this, seeing her humbled so. A faint flush stole to her face.Well, let him, she told herself. His opinion mattered not a whit to her, not anymore.
A stony silence reigned as the wheels rattled over the ruts and rocks. The wind had kicked up once again, causing herhands to clench together even more tightly in her lap, as if mere will could ward off the biting gusts. Despite all her efforts to the contrary, she began to shiver uncontrollably. Cold, exhausted, humiliated—she could only close her eyes and pray for the hellish miles to pass as quickly as possibly.
A soft, heavy warmth suddenly settled over her worn skirts. Her lids flew open to find the Marquess’s gloved hands tucking the thick merino carriage blanket up over her waist. Before she could utter a word of protest, he had already shrugged out of his elegant capped driving coat and draped it around her quaking shoulders.
“That’s … that’s quite unnecessary, milord,” she mumbled though chattering teeth.
He didn’t answer but gently took one of her hands and uncurled it to reveal the chafed and raw skin. A muscle in his jaw twitched. In a trice, he stripped off his expensive kid gloves and slipped them over her fingers.
A cutting rebuke died on her lips as he looked up at her. The expression in his piercing blue eyes was neither gloating nor smug but rather something infinitely more complex. Startled by what looked to be a tinge of concern, even sadness, she turned away in some confusion.
“You needn’t go quite so far with the charade of friendship,” she managed to say.
“Justin hardly needs to have his mother catch her death of cold.” His hand came out to adjust the corner of the blanket. “What in the devil’s name were you doing out in such weather, so far from home?” he demanded. To her surprise, his voice sounded almost angry.
“Mrs. Smythe, the widow, is ill and her children have not eaten more than a crust of bread in several days,” she answered in a low voice. “She needed my help.”
“Why didn’t that hulking groom of yours drive you, or—or take it himself?”
“Thistle has pulled up lame and both Angus and Jem were needed at the barn. It could not wait.”
It was a few minutes before he spoke again. “Were you able to do some good?”
She nodded. “I think so. But she is still not out of danger.”
“When do you go again?”
“Tomorrow.”
A frown creased his features as he looked first at the basket then at her hands. “If you name a time, I shall be happy to drive you there.”
Miranda stiffened. “That won’t be?—”
An exasperated oath rent the air. “Fine. If you cannot tolerate my presence, I shall send Sykes with a horse you may use until Thistle is recovered.”
“I fear that …”
“That is, I shall send a horse to Aunt Sophia,” he added tersely. “What you choose to do with it is your own affair.”
He lapsed into a moody silence for the rest of the journey, leaving Miranda to puzzle over his strange behavior. Why, he sounded almost … hurt over her rejection of his offer of help. She shook her head slightly. That made no sense. After all, it washewho could not abide her presence.
“Major! Major!”
Justin jumped off the wooden hogshead, nearly tangling himself in the long leather reins he was holding for Angus in his haste to greet Julian.
“Here now, bairn, have a care,” growled the big groom as he steadied the lad, then returned to his work of mending the worn bridle.
