Page 40 of If the Duke Dares
Persephone let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yes, their concern for my welfare is heartwarming.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m now very glad I’m not going home.” Indeed, she felt a marked relief.
“Probably for the best,” he agreed solemnly. “The coach is ready when you are.”
Now that Persephone had decided she wasn’t returning home, she found she was eager to get to Bath. To see Pandora especially, as well as her Aunt Lucinda. She stood quickly, plucking her bonnet from the arm of the chair she’d been sitting in. “I’m ready.”
“Your valise is already stowed on the coach, and I vow it will not be stolen.” Acton had sent someone to secure a valise for her in which to pack the things he’d purchased for her.
“Where would I be without you?” Persephone didn’t particularly want to answer that question, and she was grateful for the current situation. Things could be much worse.
“Fortunately, you don’t have to contemplate that,” he said, smiling as he escorted her outside.
Persephone tied her bonnet on before climbing into the coach. The interior was comfortable, with velvet cushions on the two seats facing forward and backward, windows on either side as well as the back, and a lantern that could provide illumination after dark.
They would not need the lantern as they were due to arrive in Bath before nightfall. In four or five hours, she would say farewell to Acton.
Was she really thinking of him, a duke, a rogue, an absolute scoundrel, asActon?
Apparently.
How things had changed in a short time. By necessity. She’d needed him, and there was no shame or regret in it. Though, shehadbroken several of the rules she and her friends had conceived. Doing so had been necessary. Soon, she’d be in Bath, and she could put all this—and this particular rogue—behind her.
Acton climbed in and sat beside her on the forward-facing seat. He set a basket on the opposite seat. “Food for later.”
“I’m not sure I’ll need to eat after that breakfast,” Persephone said. She was still feeling quite sated.
“Just in case.” He winked at her, and Persephone’s belly felt as if a butterfly had taken up residence inside.
Persephone had noticed there was a horse tied to the back of the coach. Acton had mentioned he would bring his mount along. She’d been surprised to learn his horse had been stabled at the New Inn, but then she doubted the Black Ivy could have cared for him appropriately.
She glanced out the back window just before the coach started moving. “What’s your horse’s name?”
“Hercules. I know, it’s terribly unoriginal. But also a name like yours, from ancient stories. I take it your parents like the story of Hades and Persephone?”
“I was born in late March, so my father wanted to name me after the goddess of spring. Unfortunately, I think she’s more often known as the Queen of Hell.”
“I confess that is how I think of her, but not of you. Then again, you are now Persey to me.” He grinned at her, and the butterfly in her abdomen flapped about wildly. “Does your sister have an ancient name?”
“Pandora.”
“Was there a reason for her name too?” he asked.
“Just that it sounded pretty. My mother wanted our names to start with the same letter.”
“What will your sister think of what’s happened?” he asked.
Persephone had thought about that. Pandora would be livid about the way their parents had treated Persephone. “She’ll be glad I didn’t go through with marrying you. She didn’t want me to accompany them to Loxley Court.”
Thoughts of Pandora made Persephone think of what had happened to her, which, of course, made her think of Bane, and thinking of him reminded her that he and Acton were friends. She really ought to hate Acton. She owed it to Pandora to be antagonistic.
Except Acton had done the opposite of what Bane had done—he’d stood by Persephone when she’d needed him most. Looking at Acton’s profile as they bumped along in the coach, she wondered how he was such good friends with that blackguard.
Persephone steered the conversation away from Pandora. “I’m looking forward to seeing my aunt when we arrive in Bath.”
“I’m glad you have someone who will give you shelter since you are uncertain you will be welcome at home.” He frowned but kept his gaze straight ahead. “I am disinclined to care for your parents.”
The manner in which he said that—the combination of words and tone—made her laugh. And snort. She stopped herself before she covered her mouth. It was strange to think she could be more herself with this man than with members of her immediate family.
He turned his head toward her, appearing bemused. “That was funny?”
