Page 8 of The Iron Earl

Nothing.

Her head tilted down as her mind flew into a frenzy.

Had she forgotten to extract that very important promise from him?

~~~

Lachlan gave himself leave to look back over his shoulder. A clear sign to his men where his considerations were set, he’d focused his attentions forward for the better part of the day, paying no mind to who trailed them.

It had been long enough now that he could afford a backward glance.

His look traveled back past the staggered men on horses at his height, to the long wagon pulled by a draft horse, to Rupe sitting on the back of the wagon.

He paused for a moment before he let his gaze fall upon the last person in the party. The peculiar enigma tacked onto their journey north.

A cloud of dust flitted to the air in front of Evalyn and she waved it away, coughing.

Hell, he’d made a grievous mistake last night. What had he been thinking?

His head turned forward for a few strides of his horse, and then he looked backward once more, his look intent on her.

She’d managed to keep her feet moving the entire day, not straying behind—he gave her that. Especially when even he was tired, and he’d been on a horse all day.

Her auburn hair remained swept up into the style she wore last night. The only difference about her appearance was the hastily sewn bosom of her dress that she had sliced through with his blade. When he’d left her in the garden, her breasts had been spilling forth, milky white globes in the moonlight that begged to be caressed.

The nymph wavered back and forth in her steps from directly behind the rear left wheel of the wagon to the center, seemingly trying to find the least offensive air.

He’d noticed her in the Duke of Wolfbridge’s ballroom while she stood near Lord Dalton, and not because of her insatiable need for attention like every other chit in the room. He’d noticed her for how she shrank into the wall, desperate for no attention to come her way.

Lachlan had thought she had flattened herself into the wall because of her odd dress—the last thing he did was monitor the fashionable frocks of society—but even his eye could discern that the gold and white concoction she wore was twenty years past its prime.

Yet her beauty was unmistakable—gold-green eyes that glowed canny behind her dark lashes. Auburn hair that swept in a long sweep across her brow, the locks shiny and smooth, and pinned back into a simple chignon. Fine cheekbones and a delicate nose showcased flawless skin that was only interrupted by a dusting of freckles across her nose.

The woman would have been the envy of every chit in the room if she’d had a proper dress on and managed to utter a word or even a smile.

Beauty that he’d now have to manage every step along the way. It’d be easier if she were uncomely, drab. Even average would have been preferable. But including Rupe, he had nine men with him. Nine men with eyes and cocks.

At least he’d predispositioned everyone in the party against her. That’d been easy enough. All he had to do was tell them she was the daughter of Baron Falsted. That was enough to keep their eyes locked forward as well.

Lachlan shook his head to himself. The daft lass hadn’t even had the sense to change out of her dress. Or her damn slippers. She wouldn’t last another day without the soles wearing through.

And her bare arms covered only by a thin shawl would be freezing once darkness descended. In Lincolnshire they’d had unusually warm September days that had spilled into October, but they were traveling north and the heat wouldn’t hold—especially into nights.

Dammit. This was a bloody mistake.

Even if her stepfather was Baron Falsted. Even if stealing away the man’s stepdaughter was sweet revenge upon the blasted blackguard. This was a mistake. And he’d been too soused hours ago to realize it.

She looked back over her shoulder. Too long. As though she was searching the empty road behind them.

What in the hell was she running from?

Some ill-mannered suitor, determined to make a match of her? A loveless groom? Silly wench. If she was out to teach a lesson to whoever drove her out into the gardens last night, she was the one about to learn a brutal reality about the way the world worked. Protected young chits of thetondare not wander too far from the castles they tread in and expect to survive unscathed.

But for the fact that her stepfather was Baron Falsted, he’d have sent her back to Wolfbridge hours ago when day broke.

But now…now he’d resigned himself to keep her.

Not that anyone would be coming for her. Even if someone managed to attach her disappearance to their departure, no one other than his men knew which little-used roads they were traveling north upon.

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