Page 103 of In Need of a Duke
Ian quickened his pace, the mud no longer an obstacle but a challenge he was determined to conquer. Every step brought him closer until he approached the carriage and discovered it empty.
Darkness was setting in, and a bright flare of hope burst in his chest.
This was merely a lover’s spat. A misunderstanding.
He would apologize, and they would spend the night together and return to Stonehurst in the morning. Surely.
Nearly twenty minutes later, he gripped the brass handle to the inn, water streaming down his top hat and jacket, puddling at his boots against the stone landing. With a determined push, he flew inside, tumbling onto his arse in an unceremonious entrance.
The crowded room fell into silence, everyone suddenly had eyes on Ian, and he pushed up to his knees and caught his breath, dripping onto the polished floors.
“I…” He looked around, wiping his eyes. Every part of him was soaking wet, and he struggled to compose himself. “Apologies, ladies.”
He had interrupted a knitting circle of all things. Skeins of yarn in every hue imaginable were scattered among half-finished scarves, socks, and what appeared to be an ambitious attempt at a multicolored blanket.
His gaze darted around the room, searching for the one face he desperately longed to see, but Charlotte was not among the group of women brandishing their knitting needles with apprehension.
“Good heavens!” An older woman adjusted her lace cap. “Sir, are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Highwayman!” a little girl cried, peeking out from beneath a table.
“Do you need us to call for assistance?”
Two women threw down their yarn. “Was there a carriage accident? How exciting!”
“I don’t see any blood,” the girl answered, dancing around Ian as if he were a maypole.
“No, no,” Ian said, tossing his arms up to quell the tide of questions. “I am searching for someone. Is there a woman here by the name of Charlotte?”
A ripple of amused murmurs weaved through the group, followed by knowing smiles.
“What have you done, sir?” the silver-haired woman asked.
“Oh, love!” The girl twirled, then stopped, suddenly bopping him on the nose, then rushed off to disappear behind the table once more.
Ian stumbled backward before standing, cautiously keeping his eyes on the little girl.
“Charlotte?” An older woman hunched over some intricate lace work, straightened, a large blinking eye staring back at him from beneath a piece of magnifying glass. “Aye, she came in looking for a room to escape the weather.
“A room?” He glanced around, searching for the stairs. “Whereabouts?”
“Last door on the left. I just served her some dinner. Would you care for some as well?”
He shook his head.
The little girl raced out from behind her cover and pushed him toward a darkened entrance by the bar. “You best be nice, now.”
He turned, half giddy, feeling as if he were floating, and bowed, thanking the ladies before he raced up the stairs, then froze in front of her door.
Ian sucked in a breath, shuttering his eyes, and knocked on the door.
“I asked not to be disturbed,” her voice answered from inside. “Please.”
It was a coward’s move, but he knocked once more, unable to speak past the knot in his throat.
“Please,” she insisted once more.
Very well.
